


the gas heated heart moves slowly

by TakeThisWaltz



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Bisexual Richie Tozier, Emetophobia, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Eddie Kaspbrak, Panic Attacks, Recreational Drug Use, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, Theater AU, actor richie, losers in new york, stage manager eddie, they're all 20 something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 86,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TakeThisWaltz/pseuds/TakeThisWaltz
Summary: Eddie’s life is on a steady upward trajectory. He’s been a stage manager for seven years, and he’s good at it. He’s defeated any career obstacles thrown in his path, saved disasters of shows, dealt with absolute divas of directors. He thinks he’s prepared for everything.Apparently, he’s prepared for everything except Richie Tozier.
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough & Eddie Kaspbrak, Bill Denbrough/Audra Phillips, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris
Comments: 60
Kudos: 170





	1. turn your back, cut the wind

**Author's Note:**

> The impetus for this fic: 'Man, Richie would be the worst actor to work with, I would hate to be his stage manager,' followed almost immediately by '. . . Eddie would make a great stage manager.'
> 
> Fic title and chapter titles from Tristan Tzara's _The Gas Heart_

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie figures out what he wants his life to look like

Eddie has been a stage manager for seven years and he can confidently say it brings him the most joy out of anything in his life. 

Initially theater had just been a way out of his house. When he was a sophomore in high school he’d wanted to run track. He saw the athletes go round and round the red oval outside, their strong legs stretching out from under shiny shorts, propelling their bodies forward by the strength of their muscles and the push of their feet on the pavement. That could be him, that could be his lungs filling deeply with air, that could be him pulling in front of everyone else and crossing the finish line first because he was fast and in control of his body.

When he’d asked his mother she’d accused him of deliberately trying to upset her, because how could he consider something so dangerous that would put so much stress on his already fragile form. When he told her he really meant it, that he thought it would be good for him to try something physical, she burst into tears. Didn’t he see how much it scared her? When he rejected how much she loved him, just to be spiteful? She cared because she knew he would break an ankle or put too much strain on his lungs, he couldn’t follow every whim he wanted to because those whims led to danger and pain. He just wanted to drive her to an early grave with worry. So he agreed not to go out for the track team.

He was unhappy for weeks, in a way that even his mother couldn’t ignore. He withdrew from conversations and gave non-committal answers when she asked him if he was listening to her. He’d been coming home and going straight to his room for years, emerging to make dinner and watch his mom’s soaps with her but now he felt the path he took around the house drag on his feet. As he sat in his room and stared at his bare walls he felt them closing tighter around him, breath catching in his chest like he was constantly on the verge of having an asthma attack. 

His mother was driving him to school, telling him about all of the grocery shopping she needed to do after she dropped him off and Eddie was paying half attention, staring out the car window. She’d only let him start sitting in the passenger seat at the beginning of high school, claiming before then he was too small for it to be safe.

As they pulled up outside the school building, Eddie looked at the track field longingly. Sonia caught his gaze and narrowed her eyes. 

“Eddie-bear, I know you wish you could run like the other boys, but it’s simply too dangerous. You have to take special considerations because you don’t want anything bad to happen to you. Your asthma just makes sprinting around impossible if you want to stay healthy. You know I just want you to be safe, and if only it wasn’t something so physical, but I just don’t see-”

“So I could do something less physical?” Eddie interrupted. “Something that wouldn’t bother my lungs?”

Sonia gaped. She hadn’t expected that.

“You couldn’t do just anything, Eddie, you still have to consider your other complications.”

“I want to try out for the school play,” Eddie blurted out. He didn’t, not really. He’d seen a flier for auditions in the hallway yesterday and he had no interest in acting but she wasn’t going to let him run track and he just wanted out of his fucking house for three hours at a time, four times a week, and if he had to put on a costume to do it then he would. “It’s not physical, it wouldn’t hurt my lungs or my legs or anything. It would be educational too; I would learn about English and theater and stuff. I think they’re doing Shakespeare this year.”

Sonia had unfortunately not come prepared to this conversation with a rebuttal to acting. But it wouldn’t be hard to find one. “Eddie, acting is for queers, do you really want to be associated with those types of people?”

Eddie had heard his mother say that word many times. She’d tossed it out about well dressed men they passed on the street, hissed it venomously to the television when they announced same sex marriage had been legalized in Massachusetts. He knew his mother cared if people were gay or not, that it had an impact on how she felt about them. He didn’t know if theater was full or queers or not, he just needed her not to think there was anything unseemly about this enterprise. “Not in high school it’s not, it’s just a bunch of kids playing pretend, it’s harmless. I won’t do it when I’m done with school. And I’m not doing it to hang out with the other kids, I just want to act.” He was floundering, he just needed something other than ‘Let me interact with people other than you.’ 

“What if they want you to a fight scene? Children are so careless, it would be easy for one of them to make a mistake and injure you. Or-” she shuddered-“a kissing scene? You can’t be in that close physical contact with someone, the germs you can pass from mouth to mouth contact. It’s out of the question.”

“I’ll put down on my audition sheet that I don’t want to be cast in something that involves that stuff. They’ll take that into consideration, they won’t make me do anything I don’t want to do or anything unsafe.”

Sonia pursed her lips. “I don’t think I’d be a very good mother if I let my son do dirty types of activities.”

“I’ll go back to going to the doctor once a month,” Eddie said, desperate. The regular doctor’s visits had been a point of contention ever since he started high school. They’d cut back to once every three months because Eddie had absolutely put his foot down, but he knew it was something his mother wanted back. He was willing to make that sacrifice; he knew he was wearing her down, that he was so close to the smallest scrap of freedom he could taste it. 

She sighed. “I just don’t understand where I’ve failed as a mother, that you would want something like this. Though you clearly have no consideration for my feelings at all you may audition, even though I can’t understand why you’d want to waste your time on something so frivolous,” she said. “But I don’t want any tears or heartbreak if you don’t get cast.”

“Thank you mommy,” he said, and got out of the car.

Eddie did get cast, as a bit part in the fairy court in _A Midsummer Night’s Dream_. His first impulse had been correct; he didn’t really like acting very much. Learning lines was easy enough (not that he had very many) but he still came across as stiff on stage. He didn’t make any friends, sticking by himself to go over his highlighted script during breaks. Still, he appreciated having the time out of the house, a part of his life his mom couldn’t touch.

Eddie was coming in early to his performance call. They’d opened the night before and he wanted to spend some time alone in the theater going over his blocking.

He stopped when he slipped in the back door. The lights on stage were all changing color, blinking in and out and chasing each other. He could hear the sounds of scrolling as the lighting instruments changed one color gel for another. 

“Hello?” he called out. He didn’t think the lights were just doing this on their own. 

“In here!” a voice yelled back from the booth. Eddie had never paid the blocky structure at the rear of the theater much attention before. He made his way over and poked his head in. A girl was sitting at the desk, a complicated board with lights and knobs set out in front of her, a monitor with some type of display set up beside that. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun with at least one pen stuck through it and she had a flannel tied around her waist. She grinned at him. “You’re the most punctual actor I’ve ever seen. Most can’t be bothered to show up ten minutes before curtain even if you barrage them with calls.”

“It’s good to be on time,” Eddie said. He frowned a little, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Oh, I’m just fucking around,” she said. She leaned over to the monitor and punched a series of commands into the keyboard. The lights shifted back to their normal wash. “There’s a pretty good grid in here because they do musicals in the spring, so they have a bunch of crazy colors set up. The light for this show is so boring.”

Eddie hadn’t really noticed the light on stage other than when it was too bright and getting into his eyes. He didn’t know what constituted as exciting lighting.

“Sorry to bother you,” he said, backing out of the door. “I can leave now.”

“You don’t need to, what’s the point of coming early if you don’t get to hang out a little? I’m Riley,” she said, extending her hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Eddie,” he responded, taking her hand. He’d gotten way better about touching other people since he started high school and realized there were certain social norms, like handshakes and high fives, that he had to participate in. And nothing bad had happened yet.

“What do you . . . do here?” Eddie said, looking around the booth. It was a mess of equipment and wires, crates of unidentified objects tucked underneath the desk. There was a pile of stacked folders on the ground that seemed ready to topple over any minute. There were a couple of lighting parts scattered around, and colored sheets of plastic strewn over the floor. 

“I’m the stage manager,” Riley said. “Didn’t you see me during rehearsals?”

Thinking about it, Eddie recalled a vague presence at the back of the room, binder open and pencil poised. He hadn’t taken much notice of her though.

“Don’t worry, I try and stay out of the way,” she said. “People should only notice me if something is going wrong. Or if they’re fucking up. Congrats on not being a fuck up.”

“What does a stage manager do?” Eddie asked.

“I run this whole bitch,” Riley said, spreading her arms out to encompass the theater. “I keep the director on track and on schedule during rehearsal, I make notes about all the movement and cues in the play, and then during performances I control the technical elements from here. You think the lights change automatically, or the sound just happens at the exact right moment? That’s me, pushing a button.”

Eddie hadn’t really thought about it before. When the lights went up and the show started he almost assumed it was by magic, an act of God.

“Way better than acting,” Riley said. “You get to be in control of the whole thing. It’s your show, you know?”

Eddie had never been in control of anything. His mother had overseen almost every choice in his life, from what he ate to who he hung out with to what activities he was allowed to do.

“I better go start getting into costume,” Eddie blurted out. He had heard the door of the theater open and he didn’t want to get behind.

“Oh yeah sure, get all fancy.” As Eddie turned to go she called out, “You know I’m gonna need an assistant for the musical. If you ever wanna give up the whole acting thing.”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says. “Is it . . . hard?”

“Yeah, of course,” she said. “It’s a thing worth doing, obviously it’s hard. Now chop chop, I don’t wanna have to write you up.”

During the performance Eddie paid special attention to the lights. How they faded into a dreamy blue for the moments between the lovers, and how they brightened the stage during Bottom’s final performance. Riley was making that happen, and he was just following her cues.

After the performance he went back to the booth. Riley was shoving stuff into a backpack. She smiled when she saw him. 

“Killer job out there tonight,” she said. “Think I spotted an extra little flourish when you bowed.”

“I wanna be your assistant,” Eddie said. “Acting isn’t that fun or rewarding or anything, and waiting around backstage just to get blinded by the lights is boring.”

Riley lit up. “Fucking sweet! I’ve wanted an assistant since I started doing this. I’m gonna train you up so good. We don’t know what the musical is yet, it’ll probably be stupid, but it doesn’t really matter because we’ll have fun.”

The musical was _Guys and Dolls_ and it was stupid, way stupider than Shakespeare, but Eddie had an infinitely better time. He and Riley sat in the back during rehearsal, and scribbled jokes about the actors on each other’s scripts. She showed him how to take blocking notes, how to track prop movement, what tone to use to convey actor complaints to the director. Eddie was backstage during the show again, but this time he was on headset with Riley so she could give him cues. They talked just enough to not distract each other during the performance, and she called the transitions out loud so Eddie could get a feel for the rhythm. 

He didn’t tell him mom he’d switched from acting to tech. She never came to any of his shows and didn’t ask him about it. He knew she’d disapprove more of tech. There was something dirtier and grimier about it, hands on and in the dark and underappreciated work. The first time Riley asked him to go up on the ladder to switch out a gel he’d refused, saying he could fall and break his arm. 

“So what?” she’d said. “People don’t die of broken bones.”

So he’d gingerly climbed up, feeling like his sweaty palms would slip and sending him tumbling down. He didn’t even think he was scared of heights, just what would follow after a fall. The crash, the pain. But there was also the hope that his body was strong enough. So he changed the gel while Riley held onto the legs of the ladder, and Eddie didn’t fall. 

Riley was his first real friend. He’d had kids he hung out with in elementary and middle school, but his mom didn’t allow play dates and he’d never managed to turn the brief connections he made in classes into something more. After a year of working together they joked and laughed, went on rides in Riley’s car. They cruised around the outskirts of Derry, taking roads that led to nowhere. One night, Riley took them out to this field, and they sat on the hood of her station wagon, looking up at the clear night sky. Riley pulled a joint from her pocket. “Do you mind?” she asked Eddie.

He looked nervously around, like there was someone out here watching them. But even by Derry’s standards this was pretty abandoned. 

“My mom will kill me if she smells it on me,” he said.

“I have an extra shirt in the car you can throw on. You don’t have to smoke or anything, I just really wanna get high and look at these stars.”

Eddie didn’t even know what weed smelled like and he kind of wanted to. So he nodded, and Riley hopped off the hood to rifle around in the backseat. “Here!” she said, procuring a flannel. “I like ‘em oversized so it might even be a little big on you.”

Eddie went behind the car and pulled off his shirt, shrugging on the flannel. It smelled like the men’s deodorant Riley used and the coffee she’d spilled on it earlier.

He came around the front and scooted up next to Riley. She put the joint to her mouth and flicked the lighter, cupping her hands around the tip. She took a pull and breathed the smoke out into the night air. It streamed from her lips in a billowing cloud, an almost transparent culumlus. She took another pull and offered it to Eddie. 

He looked at it hesitantly. When he was barely old enough to understand what drugs were his mother told him that pot made people go crazy, that it led down a dark path to worse and worse substances. She’d made him promise to never do it and to never hang around people who did it. And she’d always warned him about his asthma, about how his lungs were too sensitive. But Eddie hadn’t had an asthma attack in months, not since he started doing theater. Sitting in rehearsal he would put both palms on his chest and feel the rise and fall of his lungs, how they moved his breath in and out in a strong circuit. Sometimes he wondered what was really so wrong with them. He was supposed to break, to fall apart when he put too much pressure on his form but he only felt more and more whole. Going up on the ladder hadn’t killed him so maybe this wouldn’t either. Besides, being with Riley didn’t feel nearly as stifling as being with his mom and maybe that was because Riley smoked weed and his mom did not and Eddie kind of wanted to find out.

He took the joint from Riley and mimed her gesture of pinching it between her thumb and ring finger. He took a hesitant pull and immediately coughed it half up, spluttering while he tried not to drop the joint. He panicked, thinking he’d set off an asthma attack, and even though he had his inhaler it was in the car, and what if Riley couldn’t find it? But the coughing fit passed as he hacked the smoke out his chest, his lungs clearing. 

“Woah there, babylungs,” Riley said. “Take it easy,”

“You take it easy,” Eddie retorted, handing her the joint back. She took a puff and looked up at the stars.

“Fucking goregous out here. _‘Look how they shine for you, and everything you do,’”_ she sang, giggling. She took another hit and offered it to Eddie again. He shook his head no. “Give me a little bit,” he said, his throat still on fire. She shrugged. “More for me,” she said and continued smoking.

Eddie followed her gaze upwards. It was a cloudless night and Eddie could almost trace patterns in the sky. The stars seemed to shimmer extra brightly, bright little pinpricks pushing through the sky. He wished he knew something about astronomy, so that he could put names to the nebulous shapes. 

He nudged Riley. “Gimme that,” he said, nodding his head at the joint. Riley passed it back to him. He watched the smoke trail from the tip, fascinated at its upward progression. He put it to his lips and pulled, more delicately this time. He only coughed a little, and midway through it turned into a laugh.

“God, if my mom knew about this, she would flip her shit. This is like her worst nightmare. In an abandoned field, with a girl, getting high. Dangerous and immoral all at the same time.”

“You’re mom really doesn’t want you to have any fun, huh?” Riley said, plucking the joint back from between his fingers.

“No, she doesn’t,” Eddie said. “She wants me to have fun with her but she doesn’t want to do things that are fun for me, she just wants to do what’s fun for her, so I just have to pretend to have fun. She never asks me, she never asks me what I want to do.”

“Sounds like she’s not great at caring about you the way she cares about herself,” Riley said.

Eddie looked down. “Maybe,” he said. “She loves me, she really loves me, and she wants to take care of me. I just feel like she doesn’t like the parts about me that I most like about myself.”

Riley sighed. “I feel that,” she said. “My mom’s never said it but sometimes I think she wishes I wasn’t her daughter. Or that I was different in some fundamental ways. A not me version of me. Her me, the ideal me in her eyes.” She offered the joint to Eddie again and he declined. His head was already fuzzing over in a way he wasn’t sure was pleasant or not. 

“If my mom could make it so I wasn’t gay she would,” Riley said.

It took Eddie a second for what she said to process through his brain. Gay. That meant something. Riley was gay. He’d never known a gay person before. Or maybe he had? You could never tell. He couldn’t tell with Riley. Maybe there were gay people all around him.

Did he care that she was gay? In a weird way he’d forgotten women could be gay too. His mom had railed on about AIDs statistics and dirty sex clubs where men could anonymously meet and do unspeakable things with each other, but she’d hadn’t really warned him about lesbians. He had no concept of what a gay woman was supposed to be like. But Riley was his friend. Riley was his friend and she was gay and if he wanted the first statement to stay true he would have to be okay with the second statement. 

He realized that he’s been quiet for too long. He looked over at Riley. She was nervously chewing on her bottom lip, staring off into space. 

His mother really would be horrified. He was doing drugs with a lesbian.

“I’m glad you told,” he said thickly. “I mean I’m glad you told me. You didn’t have to tell me but I’m glad you . . . trusted me.” He trusted her too, he realized. 

“Thanks,” she said shakily. “I mean, it’s Derry, you never fucking know, right?”

“Yeah,” Eddie said. “It’s Derry.”

Riley took another hit off the joint. “What about you?” she asked.

Eddie was confused. “What about me?” he said. 

“Like, you know-boys, girls, both?” Eddie stiffened. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” Riley said, “You don’t have to tell me shit, I just didn’t want to assume, you know?”

“No, it’s-it’s fine,” he said a little awkwardly. “I’ve, I’ve never really thought about it before, honestly.” He’d only just started making friends; he couldn’t imagine throwing dating into the mix. 

“Honestly, sometimes I wish I never did,” Riley said, stubbing out the joint. “Or at least not until I’d gotten out of this town. Once I got those gay thoughts and feelings I couldn’t shake them and it’s not like I can do anything about it here. I wanted to ask Madi D’Angelo to spring fling so fucking bad, pick her up in suit, put my cheek on top of her head and slow dance. But I can’t because the best thing that could happen is she’ll reject me because never in the history of Derry High have two girls been allowed to hold hands at a dance.”

“It’s different out there, right?” Eddie asked. “Derry isn’t the world?”

“No, kid,” Riley said, stretching out from the hood of the car. “Derry is the tiniest fraction of the world, and a shitty one at that. We both deserve better. But the one good fucking thing about being here are the chocolate milkshakes at Benji’s and if I don’t get one right now I’ll die. Let’s prowl.” She offered a hand to Eddie and he hopped down, stumbling a little bit on the landing. His eyes lit up. “You know what I want? Fries. French fries.”

“Fuck yeah,” Riley said. “I can dip them in the milkshake, so good.”

Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Why would you ruin fries? And milkshakes.”

“God, you have so much to learn about flavor combinations,” she said. “Now let’s boogie.”

There were other kids who did tech too, and Eddie liked them even if he wasn’t as close to any of them as Riley. He enjoyed spending time with them, playing games backstage and going to Benji’s after closing performances. 

Riley graduated one year before him, and the only good thing about her absence was that Eddie got to take over as stage manager. He missed having her in the back of the room with him; none of the underclassmen showed promise enough to promote to his assistant. The solitude did allow him more time to focus on the rehearsal process. He used Riley’s paperwork templates but tweaked them for his purposes. He got a feel for running a room, and took meticulous notes during rehearsal. He was good at this, he realized one day while scribbling blocking notes over the floor plan in his script.

When he applied to college he mostly looked at schools nearby: U of Maine, Colby, even a couple in Boston. His mother didn’t want him to go to college at all, or at least wanted him to commute to the community college twenty minutes away. He argued that he wouldn’t be able to support her like she deserved when she got older if he didn’t have a good job, and he couldn’t get a good job without going to a school, and a good school at that. 

He didn’t tell her about the other schools he applied to, the ones with strong theater programs. He didn’t even know if that was what he wanted, that it was insane and foolish and mostly a pipe dream, but that didn’t stop him from wanting it. 

In the spring of his senior year he found out the meds he’d been taking all his life were fake. It was a new pharmacy assistant serving him, and she’d frowned when she handed over his prescriptions.

“Is something wrong?” he’d asked. 

“I know it’s none of my business,” she said. “But I think you’re getting ripped off by someone.”

Eddie looked at her blankly. “What do you mean?”

“These are all generic versions, and they’re all very low dosages,” she said. “I can’t see them having a serious effect on most of your ailments. I would recommend checking in with your doctor and getting different prescriptions. I’m surprised you’re not feeling the effects of your conditions.”

“That can’t be true,” he said. “My inhaler’s in there and my inhaler definitely works.”

“That’s the placebo effect,” she said. “There’s nothing but slightly flavored water in that chamber.”

Eddie didn’t know what to say to her. ‘You're wrong.’ ‘I’m sick, I’m really sick, and if that medicine doesn’t work I should be dead.’ ‘You must be lying.’ But he said none of these things. He silently took the paper bag, just mumbling ‘Kaspbrak’ when she asked for a last name on the account. 

When he walked in the front door he didn’t see his mother, which he was extremely grateful for. He didn’t know how to process his feelings about her right now. He went straight up to his room and sat on the bed. There was a spot on the wall above his desk where the paint buckled out and he stared at it so hard the rest of his vision went black. He clenched his fists over his knees. He could feel his breath sticking in his chest, the short little gasps he was beginning to make. He was having an asthma attack. But was he? He remembered running as a little kid, running when his mother couldn’t see him, and his lungs had never acted up then. His inhaler always worked when he felt an attack coming over him but he knew what the placebo effect was. If he actually had asthma it wouldn’t help him. He wasn’t having an asthma attack. It’s something else.

He’d always wondered exactly what he had that made him so sick because he never felt bad except when his mom pointed out that he felt bad. She always told him that he had a cold or he had a fever, or that his stomach must be hurting from eating all that food. But he’d never asked for any medicine himself; she’d always just given it to him.

He stopped taking the pills without telling her. He spent the first week in terror, waiting for his body to break down. But nothing happened; he didn’t collapse or break out in hives or anything else he was so worried about. So he kept not taking them, and he didn’t say anything to his mother. 

He started getting college acceptance letters in the spring. He had options; most of the places he applied let him in. His mother sighed whenever he walked in with an envelope and talked loudly about the dangers of alcohol in college and how all of his peers would try to pressure him into drinking.

Coming home from school one day, he saw an envelope stuffed into their mailbox, and, pulling it out, he saw the return address was from Northwestern University, one of the schools he applied to with a good theater program. Entering the house, he briefly greeted his mother, who was camped out in front of the TV, and rushed upstairs to his bedroom as inconspicuously as he could. Once inside his room, he held onto the envelope with trembling hands. He knew this wouldn’t make or break his future, but this gave him an option out, a life that was more than working an office job 50 miles away from where he grew up. 

He opened it carefully and pulled out the letter. _Dear Mr. Kaspbrak,_ it started. _We are pleased to offer you a position in the Northwestern class of 2016._

__

__

Eddie didn’t need to read any further. He could do it, if he wanted to. He could take the thing that made him happy and make a life of it. That is, if he wanted to throw away every scrap of security and safety, upset his mother in a way their relationship might never bounce back from.

He called Riley. She’d started a program at Tisch, NYU’s school for performing arts, and told him constantly how much better the city was than Derry.

“Is it worth it?” he’d said immediately when she picked up. “Is the whole theater thing worth it?”

“Shit, Eddie, I don’t know that yet, I’m in the midst of getting my ass kicked in intro acting, which I would never take in a million years if it weren’t required. Definitely doesn’t seem like it when I have to prance around on stage and do a monologue about boxes of love in front of my idiot classmates.”

“Cut it out, okay, I’m trying to talk about big life stuff,” Eddie said. “I don’t want to throw my whole life into disarray just because I think it might be fun to give theater a whirl.”

Riley sighs. “Okay, no bullshit,” she said. “It’s the only thing in my life that makes sense. All of the chaos falls away and it’s just you and the show, talking to each other. You get to help make something, have to come together with a lot of people and craft it. And yeah, a lot of it is so pointlessly hard, and collaborating with designers and directors who can’t agree about the placement of a special light sucks, but then you have a play. And you did that, you made that happen. Ask me again in ten years but yeah, I think it’s worth it.”

After they hung up, Eddie thought about how he felt the first time he called a show, how the beats fell into place like he was conducting a symphony. The swell of pride when he felt a moment hit just right, resonating with the audience. How in this little space the rest of the world went away and it was just him and the people he was making art with. He didn’t have anything else in his life that felt like that. He read over the letter one more time, and considered his plan of attack. 

He needed to get his mother to agree to let him go because otherwise he didn’t know how he would be able to manage it. The problem was the tuition. He certainly couldn’t afford it on his own, and even with his mother’s support-an unguaranteed thing-he’d need financial aid. He hadn’t told his mother he applied to a school in Chicago; he knew she would not react very well.

When he sat her down to tell her he wanted to go to Northwestern and he needed her to fill out the financial aid forms she didn’t believe him at first. She told him that he was simply wrong, and he’d never been accepted into that university. He had to pull out the letter as proof to show her. She stared down at it for a full thirty seconds, mouth agape. “Mommy?” he said eventually, voice trembling a little. “Mommy, are you okay?” She started making a little hiccuping sound, breath coming fast out of her chest. Tears streaming from her eyes, she turned her gaze to Eddie. 

“How could you abandon me?” she wailed. “Why do you want to leave me all alone, to go thousands of miles away from me. If I had an accident you wouldn’t be there. Do you want me to die alone?”

“This is an opportunity for me, Mommy,” Eddie said. “It’s a really good school, I could get a great education and then be able to get a stable job, do something successful.”

“You don’t have to go so far away just to find a job. You can be happy right here, with me! I don’t understand why you need more than that,” she blubbered.

“I want to see more than just Derry,” Eddie said. “I’ve never even left Maine, and I want to experience what’s out there.”

“I know what’s out there, Eddie! Disease and murders, people getting knifed in dark alleyways. You want to go to Chicago? Do you have any idea what the crime statistics are like out there? I would never stop worrying about you, thinking about if you were bleeding out in a sewer.”

“I don’t want you to worry. I promise I’ll be safe, that I won’t take any risks.”

She pulled out a kleenex and blew her nose loudly. “Oh, Eddie, you don’t know anything about the world. You just can’t see the danger out there because you’re too young and I’ve been too good at protecting you all your life. The second you get out there all you’ll want to do is come home, come back to me where nothing can hurt you.”

“You can’t stop everything from hurting me, mom. Maybe you don’t need to try so hard.”

She gasped like he slapped her. “How could you be so heartless? I’ve spent my whole life loving you, caring about you, and you throw it in my face. What mother deserves to raise an ungrateful son? You don’t care about me and you never have, the only person you’ve ever cared about is yourself.”

“I talked to the pharmacist,” Eddie said. “About my meds.” Eddie has been holding onto this for months, waiting for the right time to confront her. He knew now that he’d been saving it for this moment. “She says she doesn’t know how they’re possibly working since the dosages are so low. So maybe I’m not as sick as we thought. Maybe I’ve been healthy this whole time.”

His mother’s mouth snapped shut. She looked at him with fear growing in her wet eyes.

“But I should probably keep taking them, right? Because it’s better safe than sorry. Just like going to Northwestern means I’m more likely to get a good education. Shouldn’t we take every precaution? You know, just to make sure things don’t change for the worse.”

He’d sent his mother’s house of cards trembling. She couldn’t be honest and say she’d been lying to him for years, pressuring his pharmacist to give him pills that were practically nothing. If she admitted that she’d have to admit everything she did, all of the stifling protective measures and rules and restrictions on what he could eat, it was all fake, and she couldn’t lose control like that.

“I just want what’s best for you, Eddie bear,” she said. “But if you think this is what’s best for you I can’t stop you, even though I don’t know why you’d choose to hurt me like this. And you can’t go if they don’t provide enough aid, I’m not going to bankrupt us.”

“Thank you,” Eddie said. He felt relief spread through him. “I’ll get you a copy of the paperwork.” He got up from the kitchen table to head upstairs.

“Eddie?” his mother said. He turned back to face her. “Yes, mommy?”

“You’ll keep taking your medicine, won’t you?” she said fearfully. 

Eddie swallowed his feelings of weakness for still playing into her ruse, still being the son she so desperately refused to loosen her grip on. He knew he had to make this sacrifice, take a step backward before he could take two steps forward. “Yes, of course.”

“Okay,” she said, relaxing slightly. “I love you very much Eddie bear.”

“I love you too Mommy,” he said, and left her sitting there. He knew she’d watch him more closely now to make sure he was really taking the pills. But since they didn’t actually do anything, it didn’t matter except symbolically, and soon he’d be out of the house and wouldn’t have to take jack shit.

He got the necessary financial aid from Northwestern and his mother had no choice but to let him go. He bought a car with his meager savings and drove from Derry to Chicago. He felt freer and freer the further away he drove him his hometown and his mother.

He started out by taking business classes because he wanted to be able to report to his mother he was doing something practical. But he did theater as an extracurricular, making more and more connections in the department. Spring of his freshman year he started taking theater courses.

He was on the phone with Riley one day, calling her from his dorm room. She was telling him about this girl she’d hooked up with, how she’d met her at a queer mixer. “It’s really great being here. Like, I knew there must be other gay people in the world, but I almost didn’t believe it. But they exist! And they want to meet me as much as I want to meet them. It’s fucking wild.”

Something was twisting up in Eddie’s stomach, something he’d been thinking for a while that just need to come out. “Riley, I don’t think I like girls,” he blurted.

“That’s okay, kid” she said without missing a beat. “I like ‘em enough for the both of us.”

Eddie laughed, and she continued, “Seriously, Eddie, I’m really proud of you. Like, you’ve got me, you know? I’m in your corner, always.”

“Thanks, Riley,” he said. “You know, I would think in high school sometimes, ‘Why don’t I have a crush on Riley? We get along, she’s funny, she’s pretty. What’s wrong with me?’ And then evantually I realized there was nothing wrong with me, I was just gay. If I did like girls though, I would like you,” he finished.

“Oh Eddie Kaspbrak,” she sighed. “You are too good for this world. If I was attracted to men you know you’d be the only man for me. Now, when are you going to come visit?” she continued. “I haven’t broken the rules about sneaking a guy into my dorm room and I’m itching to try.”

When he called his mother his sophomore year and told her he was a declaring as a theater major she immediately started screaming at him through the phone and accused him of lying about his entire reason for going to college. She threatened to come to Chicago and retrieve him, which he knew was an idle threat because she wouldn’t leave Maine. She indicated she would mentally and physically devolve to the point of incapacitation if he caused her shame like this. When she told him that he was going down a path of moral degradation and financial ruin he hung up on her for the first time in his life. 

He didn’t come home for the summer that year, instead finding a cheap apartment with a couple of friends from the department. His mother started calling him daily to barrage him about how miserable she was and how he was putting her through hell. He eventually blocked her number. He was functionally supporting himself, and was willing to take out a couple of loans to as to not rely on her.

He graduated with a major in theater and a minor in business (it really was better safe than sorry). When he made the decision to move to New York and start a career there he didn’t tell his mother.

He sold his car and packed up everything he owned into two large suitcases. Then he bought a one way bus ticket and made his way to New York City. 

He knew someone who knew someone in the industry, the only real way to get work, and secured an assistant stage manager job on a downtown show. He applied at a temp agency and picked up shifts working behind front desks at real estate agencies and law offices. He didn’t yet have a place to live though; he was crashing with Riley in the apartment she shared with her girlfriend and it was cramped. 

He met Audra on the very first show he worked on. She was playing the lead in an interpretation of Medea, and Eddie respected her professionalism immediately. He found her deeply empathetic to the plight of a new artist in New York; she’d been there for two years and just now started work that consistently paid more than $1000.

“It’s hard out there,” she told him one break. “You have to hustle and cut corners just for scraps.”

“Right now I just want a real bed,” Eddie said. “The rest will come later.”

“You know, my boyfriend is trying to fill the room in his apartment; his roommate just left for grad school. I could put you in contact with him if you’re interested.”

Eddie readily agreed, and Audra took down his number. He got a text later that day;

_Hi, this is Bill, Audra’s boyfriend, it’s nice to meet you (textually, I guess). Do you want to come over and view the apartment sometime?_

Eddie loved the apartment, a two bedroom up in Harlem. After touring it and negotiating rent he moved in. It felt wonderful to have his own room with his own closet, even though it was small. He didn’t have that many belongings to fill it up anyway.

He quickly fell into a fast friendship with Bill. Bill had moved to New York to be with Audra; he was a writer so he could pretty much do that anywhere, and he wanted to support Audra’s career as an actress. One opening night for the play they worked on together he brought Audra a bouquet of flowers and Eddie a little desk plant. Bill faithfully saw every one of Audra’s plays and after Eddie moved in he came to every one of Eddie’s too.

Eddie continued to get better shows until he had a solid reputation as a downtown theater scene stage manager worth working with. He got some off Broadway shows too but he hadn’t gotten his union card yet. But he made a decent living, although he still had to pick up extra work. No one in the arts didn’t have a side hustle. He didn’t hate the office jobs; part of what he loved about stage management was order and spreadsheets and he got a lot of that in office work. He thought in an alternate world he would have been happy going corporate, doing something 9-5 for a salary. But in this timeline he got to do what he loved, creating art even if it would give his mother heart palpitations to know how he was living. He often wished she could see him now, just to show her she’d been wrong all this time, he wasn’t delicate and fragile, he was capable and competent and knew how to run shit. She was right about one thing; theater was full of queers, which Eddie was deeply grateful for. 

Eddie’s life is on a steady upward trajectory. He has friends in the city, and work he’s proud to have made. He’s overcome the influence of his mother-though he hates the taste he can at least say he’s tried a cigarette, even if he still won’t touch the subway poles. Maybe he hasn’t had a serious relationship since college, and barely a serious one then, but he finds great satisfaction in coming home alone to sleep in the center of the bed without having to deal with anyone grinding their teeth or pushing him off the side. He’s defeated any career obstacles thrown in his path, saved disasters of shows, dealt with absolute divas of directors. He thinks he’s prepared for everything.

Apparently, he’s prepared for everything except Richie Tozier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a lot of intro; I wanted to explore what forces and passions could help Eddie break free of his mother's influence without the Losers in his life. 
> 
> The decision to write Riley came from a bunch of different places. I've never written an OC before, but I felt like she was fulfilling an important role that I didn't want to cast any of the Losers in. Also, there should be way more women in all of fanfic. If you hate her, if you love her, let me know!
> 
> Drop some kudos if you liked it!
> 
> Come talk to me at on twitter [@beepbeepbxtch](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) and tumblr at [toziertool](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/)!


	2. the mechanical battalion of clenched handshakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie has his first rehearsal

It’s the first day of rehearsal for Eddie’s new show and he’s not nervous because he is completely prepared. He went shopping at Staples earlier in the week and stocked up on pens and highlighters and post-it notes, re-organized his whole stage manager’s kit. He arrives at the rehearsal space twenty minutes early to set up. He’s pleased when his director shows up ten minutes early; he likes taking time at the beginning of rehearsal to go over the plan and schedule.

He hasn’t worked with Mike before, but they get along so far. They had coffee together a week ago to discuss the script and Mike’s vision for the play. They met at Mud in the East Village because Eddie believed it had some of the best coffee in the city. He’d gotten there a little before Mike and spent some time looking over the script. They were doing _The Lieutenant of Inishmore_ , a dark comedy by the Irish playwright Martin McDonagh. Eddie had read it in preparation for the meeting; the play was violent and absurd, a commentary of the useless cycles of carnage people rained down on each other because of belief in a greater good. 

Mike arrived, an easy smile crossing his face when he spotted Eddie. “Mike Hanlon,” he said, holding out his hand. Eddie shook it. “Eddie Kasprak, nice to meet you.”

Mike sat down and when the waiter came by they both ordered their drinks; Mike got an au lait and Eddie just ordered a plain coffee.

“How do you know Adin?” Mike asked of their mutual acquaintance who had recommended Eddie for the show.

“He was the production manager for a piece on a hypothetical mandatory draft. The piece was . . . challenging”-theater code for ‘a terrible fucking experience’-“but me and Adin really got along.” 

“Yeah, he’s great, we were in a directing seminar together in school.”

The waiter dropped off their coffees. Mike stirred a little extra sugar into his, Eddie took it black.

“So,” Eddie said, wanting to get down to business. “What do you need from me as a stage manager? To what level do you want me running the room?”

“A lot,” said Mike, taking a sip. “I don’t like when my stage manager’s don’t give me their opinions on things, or don’t keep the room on track. I can zero in on specific moments and beats and neglect the larger arch of the show, getting off track. I get determined to make every second perfect and meaningful. I just feel like there’s so much to explore in every part, but I know we don’t have time for that.”

“I can do that,” Eddie said. “People have said I’m a little brusque.”

“I don’t mind brusque as long as there’s respect,” Mike said. “I need you to respect my vision for the show.”

“What drew you to this play?” Eddie asked. 

“Everyone keeps expecting me to make plays about being black, to speak deeper truths about the African-American experience. And I have a lot to say about it; I grew up in small town Pennsylvania working on my grandfather's farm and we were pretty much the only black people in town. So it was a huge culture shock to move here and suddenly have a community.”

“I’m from small town Maine,” Eddie interjects. “I don’t think there was a single black family in my hometown.” 

“Yeah, I don’t know if this was true for you, but coming here made me feel like I’d entered a whole different world. And it’s a lot to process so I’ve made a lot of theater about being black; I wrote my thesis on Suzan Lori-Parks, and the last play I did was _The Brothers Size_. I loved making a play about the challenges of being black, I loved working on it and I loved how it turned out. But then after I was done it was like this pressure to make another play like that, like that was the only way to make meaningful work. So I wanted to do something to say fuck you to all of that. My race is a huge, important facet of my identity but that’s not all I want to talk about.”

“So why this play?” Eddie asks. “You’ve probably noticed, but there are lots of plays by white people.”

Mike laughs. “Well, _Lieutenant of Inishmore_ is all about radicalism turned violent. The theme of inflicting violence in service of a higher ideal is always relevant. When the characters in the play commit atrocities against each other they can always find a way to justify and rationalize it. And it’s so gory in the script it makes you squeamish, but I want to make the audience lean into that discomfort. And it gets to be funny because it’s not real, but because the play places it in a real context it’s also terrifying. People trap themselves in petty cycles all the time, ideals and love turning into extremity and hate in an endless loop. I want people to think about how they can break that loop for themselves.”

Even though the play isn’t necessarily Eddie’s cup of tea, he appreciated Mike’s answer. Stage managing meant that you couldn’t feel compelled by every project; sometimes you just had to take work. It was often better to work with someone you liked and got along with to make something they were passionate about instead of doing Eddie’s preferred types of theater with an incompetent director. His favorite pieces were the ones where he’d felt genuine camaraderie with the other members of the team. 

“What type of theater do you like to make?” Mike asked.

Eddie was surprised. Stage managers don’t usually get asked what sort of theater they’re interested in creating; they can pick what shows they work on, but they never get to choose their own show, or make any of the creative choices.

“I like Tennessee Williams,” he says. “You know, classic plays about conflict and family. I think I’m not interested in making queer theater because, same as you, I don’t want that to be the only thing people associate me with, but I end up working on a lot of projects that have those themes, so I must be drawn to it on some level. I love working on musicals too,” he confesses to Mike. “But if you want to do that you have to be working on Broadway and I’m just not there.”

“Not yet,” Mike said, and Eddie smiled at him, pleased. 

Mike’s plan for the first rehearsal was to read the script aloud, go over any questions the actors might have, then have the designers give presentations. He and Eddie chat as the actors and designers fill in. Soon, it’s the very top of rehearsal. Some of the actors hustle in a little after the hour, but when Eddie does a head count he finds there only missing one person. He leans over to Mike. “Who’s not here?” he says in a low voice.

Mike looks around and sighs. “Richie,” he says. “Richie is never on time.”

“Have you worked with him before?” Eddie asks. He’s not sure why Mike would willingly choose to work with someone who couldn’t be punctual. 

“Yeah, he can be a pain in his own Richie way, but he’s really good, he’s got this energy, you’ll see.”

“Do you have his number?” Eddie says. “I’m going to text and ask his ETA.”

“Sure,” Mike says, digging his phone out of his pocket. He sends it to Eddie and Eddie saves it in his phone as ‘Actor Richie’. He shoots him a text.

**Hi Richie, this is Eddie, your stage manager. What’s your ETA for rehearsal?**

He gets a text back in a couple of minutes.

_man i wish i fucking knew_

He frowns. That answer is both useless and vaguely difficult. 

**Please keep me updated when you have a better idea of your travel time,** Eddie responds. His phone buzzes; Richie has sent him the laughing/crying emoji. 

It’s now fifteen minutes past the start of rehearsal. They planned on taking an hour and a half to two hours to read the play, an hour to go over notes, then an hour to go over design presentations. Richie is one of their leads, so they can’t start without him. Eddie hates deviating from a schedule, but he also hates wasted time. He confers with Mike, and they make the decision to start with design presentations. 

It’s thirty three minutes past the top of rehearsal, and the scenic designer is in the midst of explaining how they plan on exaggerating the interior spaces to cartoon-like proportions and making the external places seem surreal when the door slams open. Eddie turns to face the intrusion.

The man standing in the doorway looks like he’s gone through a tornado. He has a messenger bag thrown over one shoulder, and a sandwich in a grease stained paper wrapper clutched tight in his hand, which he’s trying to shove into the messenger bag. He’s wearing a short sleeved button down covered in little green alien heads with bulbous eyes underneath a leather jacket. He’s tall, crowding the doorway. He’s got messy dark hair that he doesn’t look like he’s combed, five o’clock shadow, and a thick pair of black rimmed glasses. 

“Fuck, you would not believe the time I had getting here,” he says. He makes his way over to the table, shuffling his bag until it sits on a more comfortable place on his shoulder. “I was on the train and someone started smoking a cigarette, which is fine by me you know, when you’re jonesing you’re jonesing, but the car was pretty packed and people started flipping their shit. So everyone starts pushing and I got shoved right out of the car. And of course the next train took for fucking ever to come. Mikey, my man!” he says, lighting up. “Good to see you!”

“Please take a seat; we were in the midst of design presentations,” Eddie says coldly. He’s not in the habit of making a bad first impression, but this man is in the process of making a terrible one on him.

Richie turns his gaze over to him. His eyes are blue grey behind his glasses, and they seem to shine with some long-running internal joke. He rakes his eyes over Eddie and smirks. “You must be the stage manager. Sorry I didn’t tell you when I was getting here; you know service in the tunnels is shit and by the time I got out I had to bust ass to get here. Next time I’ll let you know.”

“I would hope there wouldn’t be a next time,” Eddie says. Late actors disrupt rehearsals, muck up the schedules, make everyone else on the production work on their time schedule. Eddie thinks being late, both personally and professionally, is rude and disrespectful of other people.

“Never again,” Richie says, plopping into a chair across the table from Eddie and making a little cross over his heart. “Now who’s got a script?” The production manager hands one over and Richie flips through it. “Hey, stage manager,” he calls out to Eddie. “Got a pencil?”

Eddie grits his teeth and digs through his box. He grabs a pencil and passes it to Mike to send around the table to Richie.

“You could’ve just chucked it you know,” Richie says. He mimes a throw. “Bonus points if you hit me in the glasses.”

“I’m observing safety protocols,” Eddie says stiffly. He doesn’t like how much Richie has already sidetracked this process. “Sage, would you like to continue with your presentation?”

Sage goes on about their vision for the scenic backdrop, and even though Eddie tries to pay attention to them he can’t help but be distracted by Richie. The man can’t stop moving. He twirls his pencil around, shifts around in his chair. He emits one of the loudest sneezes Eddie has ever heard and Eddie mutters “Bless you.”

Once they’re through the presentations they take a ten. Eddie gets up to refill his water bottle and when he comes back Richie has taken his spot next to Mike. Eddie awkwardly stands next to him. “Excuse me,” he says pointedly. Richie looks up.

“Something the matter?” he says, more coyly than Eddie is comfortable with.

“You’re in my seat,” he says. 

“I’m just here to sweet talk Mike for a bit,” Richie responds. “There’s plenty of other chairs you can take.”

“Yes, but that’s my seat,” Eddie says. He doesn’t know why he’s pushing back so hard. A good stage manager doesn’t ruffle the actor’s feathers, especially on the first day. Richie’s unprofessionalism doesn’t excuse him being less than exemplary at his job. 

“Fine, fine,” Richie says, putting up his hands. “Make a poor working man, a tired soul, just trying to relax after a long hard day, drag himself from his place of comfort.”

“There’s plenty of other chairs you can take,” Eddie repeats back to him.

Richie gets up, making a great show of hoisting himself out of the chair and groaning at the movement. He moves past Eddie just a little too close and takes the chair one over. When he brushes by him Eddie can pick up the faint smell of cigarettes clinging to his shirt. Eddie pulls his reclaimed chair back and scoots back towards the table, turning to his notes.

“How’s it been, Mikey?” Richie loudly calls over him. Eddie frowns. 

“Uh, good, got out of the city last weekend and went out to Montauk, still a little cold but that just means it’s still pretty empty.” Mike shoots Eddie a look and mouths ‘sorry’. Eddie’s brows come together and his mouth flattens out into a straight line like it tends to do when he’s stressed.

“Oh nice,” Richie responds. “Yeah, it’s so important to get out every once in awhile, you go stir crazy.”

Eddie looks up from his script. “Excuse me,” he says as politely as possible. “Can you not have this conversation across me?”

“You’re the one who made me move,” Richie tells him. “If you didn’t want us to talk over you, you should’ve let me keep the seat.”

“It’s my seat,” Eddie snaps back. 

“Eddie, have you met Richie before?” Mike says hurriedly. Eddie shakes his head no. “Well, we’ll do full introductions in a little bit-we waited for you, Richie-but you two can at least meet each other now. Eddie, this is Richie Tozier, New York’s resident Trashmouth. Richie, Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“Trashmouth?” Eddie asks.

“Trash goes in, trash comes out,” Richie supplies. “What an absolute pleasure it is to make your acquaintance, Eddie Kaspbrak.” He beams, holding out his hand. Eddie gingerly shakes it. “Likewise,” he mutters, although it has not been a pleasure so far. He checks his phone and calls out “Three minutes till end of break!”

“Thank you three,” Mike responds. “Yes, thank you very much three,” Richie says. He leans his elbow on the table, pushing his chin into his palm “So what’s your deal? Where do you live, what’s your survival job, have any dogs or cats or goldfish?”

“I live in Harlem,” Eddie responds. “I’ve been there since I moved here.”

“Fucking lame,” Richie says. “Brooklyn, that’s where it’s at. Rent’s cheaper, bars are better. All the real culture is in Brooklyn.”

“I don’t go out very much,” Eddie says. This is true. He’ll go out with the team after a show, or go get drinks with Bill and some of their other friends. Once or twice Bill and Audra had dragged him out dancing. But he didn’t make a habit of knowing the best bars.

“What’s the point of being young and in New York if you don’t take advantage of it? You might as well be in Cincinnati.”

“I’m here to make theater,” Eddie tells him. “I can’t do that in Cincinnati.”

Richie waves his hand dismissively. “You can make shitty theater in Cincinnati. If you don’t stay out till 5 am twice a month, you’re not doing New York right.”

Eddie’s phone blessedly goes off at that moment signaling the end of break, so he doesn’t have to respond to Richie’s condescension about what constitutes the authentic New York experience. Richie doesn’t move from the chair next to Eddie. When the original occupant comes back he shoots her a soulful look and says “You know, it would just be the sweetest thing of you to switch spots with me, I’ve just gotten so comfy and can’t hardly think about moving.” She readily agrees, seemingly a little charmed, and even moves his script and his bag over to her former spot. Eddie shoots Richie a look.

“What? I’m sick of playing musical chairs,” he says. 

They do their round of introductions-Richie’s fun fact about himself is that he’s seen four dead rats outside his apartment building-and settle down with the script. Eddie reads the stage directions. It’s one of his least favorite parts of his job; even though the attention isn’t directly on him he feels hyper-conscious of every time he stumbles. 

He can’t fully tell without seeing him on his feet, but it seems in general Richie is pretty good, as much as he might hate to admit that. His posture changes and his voice sharpens when it’s his turn to read lines. When he’s not in a scene he’s slumped back, disengaged, but when he’s speaking he’s someone else, someone a little bit dangerous, someone somehow even more magnetic. He even pulls out a truly impressive Irish accent. 

They wrap up the reading, take another break during which Richie shoves his egg and sausage sandwich into his mouth, and then spend the rest of the rehearsal talking about the script. Eddie doesn’t really have much to participate in here, so he types up his rehearsal report and tries to ignore Richie chewing on his pencil next to him, a disgusting habit. 

They finish for the night and everyone mingles around a little bit. Richie gets caught up talking to someone who knows another actor they’ve both worked with, attention blessedly off Eddie. Eddie takes advantage of this and turns to Mike. “Can we meet before rehearsal tomorrow? I wanted to go over which actors we have available to help with scenic changes.”

“Sure thing Eddie,” Mike says. “Hey, you wanna grab a drink?”

“No thanks,” Eddie declines. He likes Mike but he’s conscious of the time. “I have a temp shift in the morning.”

“Is that what you do during the day?” he hears from above him. Richie is standing next to his chair. “Push pencils?”

“No one really works with pencils anymore,” Eddie tells him. 

“Beg to disagree,” Richie says, handing him his pencil back. He regards it with some disgust, trying not to handle the back end. He tucks it inside his bag, planning on throwing it away later He wants to say something but he also doesn't want to start that fight right now. “Are you walking out?” Richie asks.

Eddie turns to Mike. “I think I’ve covered everything I need to,” Mike says. “I’ll walk with you.”

Richie helps them fold up the table and chairs, stacking them against the wall, and they leave the rehearsal studio, Eddie making sure to flick off the light. On the elevator ride down Richie babbles at Mike about some concert he saw a couple of nights ago. Richie’s a good storyteller, he grudgingly admits to himself while he listens in, as Richie does an impression of a bouncer who didn’t believe his ID was his because the photo was so old. “Bet that happens to you all the time,” he says to Eddie. “With those sweet baby cheeks.” Eddie just fumes in response. They part ways on the street, Richie and Mike heading downtown and Eddie catching the A up to his apartment. “See you tomorrow, Mike!” Eddie calls out. “Richie, you’re not called until Thursday; please don’t be late.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie yells back.

Eddie doesn’t appreciate the familiarity. “Don’t call me that,” he says. “No nicknames.” 

“Whatever you say, Eds,” Richie says, retreating.

“Don’t call me Eds!” Eddie yells at his diminishing form.

When he gets home Bill and Audra are sprawled out on the couch watching TV. “How did it go?” Bill calls out while Eddie takes his shoes off in the doorway.

“Pretty good,” Eddie says, plopping into a chair. “Lots of fake blood, one real cat which is going to be a pain, seven actors which is like two too many. And I can already tell one of them is going to be the bane of my existence.”

“Tell me more,” says Audra, stretching her feet across Bill’s lap.

“Well he showed up thirty minutes late, and was completely unprofessional when he got there. Like he ate-right in the rehearsal space! I couldn’t yell at him because it wasn’t the performance space but if he keeps it up I sure as fuck will.”

“Do I know him?” says Audra.

“Maybe?” Eddie responds. “His name’s Richie. Richie Tozier.”

Audra snorts out a laugh. “Oh my god, I know someone who worked with Richie. Human disaster, bisexual tornado. Self described,” she says at Eddie’s look. “He’s a solid actor but he likes to have a good time.”

Eddie groans. “He clearly thinks he’s hot shit and can’t be bothered to be a goddamn adult,” he says, sitting down into the armchair and pulling out his laptop. 

“It can’t be that bad,” Bill says. “You’ve dealt with worse before. Remember that actress who requested a fresh chilled cup of water at the top of every performance?”

“Yeah, Deepali was a pain,” Eddie says. “But, I don’t know, at least she was severely anxious. Richie just seems like he has no respect for the rehearsal space.”

“Are you maybe being too uptight about this?” Bill asks. Eddie shoots him a look. “I mean, I’m just saying, sometimes you can get a little intense about rehearsal schedules.”

“You haven’t met him! He’s determined to be the biggest distraction he can possibly be. And I get intense because somebody needs to keep the room on track,” Eddie says. “And Richie seems intent on derailing anything he pleases. Which is not conducive to a good rehearsal process.”

“Cut him some slack, it’s the first day,” Audra says. “Shit happens, it’s New York. Like you’ve never been late?”

“In very dire circumstances, yes. I just think it constitutes good conduct to show up on time, especially the first day.”

“Maybe he’ll shape up,” Bill says. 

“He better. I don’t want to have to yell at someone this early on.” Eddie responds, turning to his rehearsal report. He finishes typing it up and sends it off. He makes up the rehearsal call too, checking to see what scenes Mike has them doing tomorrow. He frowns a little bit and adds a line at the end: ‘Lateness will not be tolerated during this rehearsal process. All scheduling conflicts must have been discussed with the director prior to rehearsal’. Looking it over once more, he shoots it off to the actors.

He goes through his night time routine, showering and brushing his teeth for the dentist recommended amount of time. When he plugs in his phone for the night he checks his email one more time. Richie has responded to the rehearsal call. He opens it, and finds,

_damn you’re really gonna publicly roast me for this one huh. cold, spaghetti, very cold. hey what do you call cold spaghetti? ice ice penne_

Eddie just stares at his screen. He wants to tell Richie that email threads are no place for jokes, especially jokes that dumb, but that seems stuffy, even for him. He eventually types 

**Some people respond well to public humiliation. I’ll see you at 6:00 pm on Thursday.**

Then he turns on his rain sounds playlist, puts his phone aside, and tries to get to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe a lot of talk about theater, but I wanted to establish who Mike was and what he was interested in
> 
> I had to buy a copy of _[The Lieutenant of Inishmore](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lieutenant_of_Inishmore)_ because theater kids are nerds who won't share stolen pdfs 
> 
> I thought I was gonna write Hanbrough in my next fic but it turns out I love Audra with all my heart
> 
> [This](https://www.mudnyc.com/) is Mud! 
> 
> Come talk to me on twitter [@beepbeepbxtch](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) at and tumblr at [toziertool](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/)!


	3. don't you breathe the same air as i?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie re-evaluates

It’s three days after the first rehearsal, and Eddie and Bill are doing their morning dance around the kitchen as they prepare their breakfasts. He and Bill usually wake up at roughly the same time and eat at the little table in the living room with each other; Bill, because he likes to get up early and write, and Eddie because he has to go to work. On the nights Audra stays over she sleeps in; her rehearsals don’t generally start till noon at the earliest. 

Bill’s scrambling eggs on the stove, bread in the toaster. Eddie’s at their little table with a bowl of muesli and a cup of coffee. “Are we out of orange juice?” Bill asks over his shoulder.

“Almost,” Eddie says. “I’ll pick some up after work.” He pauses. “Fuck, I have rehearsal tonight.”

“I’ll get it,” Bill offers. “I don’t have to teach until 3.”

Bill picks up tutoring gigs on the side to make money. Even though he’s been published in journals and magazines the money isn’t consistent, and it’s good to have other sources of income.

“Thanks, Bill,” Eddie says, relieved.

“Hey, you wanna get dinner with Stan sometime next week?” Bill asks. “He asked if we were free; Patty says she doesn’t see you often enough.”

Stan is Bill’s best friend from college and Patty is his wife. They’re the only friends Eddie has who are married; they’d started dating freshman year of college. Stan had been following a bird and not looking where he was going and literally ran into Patty. Instead of laying into him she asked if he was okay, and if he needed an ice pack. Stan invited her on his bird watching trips for a month before he pulled it together enough to ask him out, and she'd asked him what he'd been waiting for. They’re slightly less of the starving artist types; Stan’s an accountant and Patty teaches elementary school. They’re probably Eddie’s closest friends outside of Bill and Riley in the city. He likes Stan’s dry, specific sense of humor, the quiet generosity he’s seen him show Bill and time again. One day he noticed Stan took the same consideration with him, that he remembered the details Eddie told him about his life and about his shows. Patty is endlessly kind; her patience makes her a great teacher, and she’s the type of person who always sees the best in people.

Eddie finishes up his cereal and pours the rest of his coffee into a travel mug. He checks the weather on the way out and grabs an umbrella from next to the door. 

“See you later, Bill,” he says over his shoulder as he shrugs on his jacket.

“Have a good day!” Bill calls back. “Whip those actors into shape during rehearsal!”

Eddie had had the second rehearsal for the show several days ago. He’d bitched to Bill about it as soon as he’d gotten home. The actors were good but seemed almost a little rusty; Mike needed to do some more energy work to get them to crackle. He’s hoping rehearsal tonight will go better. He’s nervous though; this is the first time Richie’s been called since the first rehearsal, and he doesn’t want him to make things difficult.

Eddie’s day is fairly boring. He does nothing at work but answer the phone and direct emails to their correct recipients. It lets him zone out, which he doesn’t mind. He wishes he could do some of his stage management paperwork while in the office, but doesn’t want to be a bad employee, even though he has long stretches of time where he does nothing but wait for the phone to ring. While at work, his tension about rehearsal builds; he imagines them getting derailed, off track, spending the whole four hours talking about one page of the script. 

He clocks out at 5 and grabs a sandwich on the way to the rehearsal studio. He takes the elevator up, checks himself in at the front desk, and gets somebody to let him into the room. He needed to get there early to tape out the lines of the scenic plot onto the floor of the room so the actors know not to walk through walls. The space isn’t big enough to fit the full layout, so Eddie does the best with what he has. 

Mike arrives 15 minutes before rehearsal starts. “You got the schedule I sent you?” he asks Eddie, dropping into a chair. 

Eddie nods, still laying tape down on the ground. They’re working on the second scene of the play, where Richie’s character interrogates a petty drug dealer. He and Mike go over how long Mike wants to spend on each moment. The other actor shows up at six on the dot, but soon it’s five minutes past and Richie still isn’t there. 

Eddie pulls out his phone.

**Hi Richie. What’s your ETA for rehearsal?**

_5 mins i swear,_ Richie responds. 

Fifteen minutes later Richie bursts through the door. He’s sopping wet, hair plastered to his head. “Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes. “I forgot my wallet, so I had to run back and get it, set me behind. Won’t happen again, I promise.”

‘It better fucking not,’ Eddie thinks to himself. Before he can respond Mike says, “It’s okay, you can take a moment to get settled.”

Richie plops into a chair at the table. “What are we doing today?” 

“It was in the rehearsal call,” Eddie tells him. 

“Of course, we’re doing . . .” Richie trails off and squints a little in fake concentration.

“Scene II,” Eddie says tersely.

They read through the scene together, Eddie doing stage directions once more. After they finish the read through they go into a discussion of the beats of the scene. When they get to a break, Eddie turns to Mike and says in a low voice, “I’m going to talk to Richie about being late.” 

Mike sighs unhappily. “Go ahead, but I don’t know how much good it’s going to do.”

He’s not looking forward to this, but if he doesn’t deal with this now it’ll be a problem for the rest of the process. Eddie goes over to Richie’s chair. “Can I talk to you in the hallway for a second?”

Richie looks up from his phone and grins. “You can do anything you want with me, Spaghetti.”

“Don’t-” Eddie huffs out a breath and turns to walk to the hallway. He hears Richie scramble out of his chair and follow him out.

Once he hears Richie shut the door he turns to face him. Today Richie’s wearing a bright orange shirt with a tropical button down over top. Eddie has to tilt his head up a little to look at him; he hates that Richie has this advantage, but the man unfortunately has a good four inches of height on him. 

“You’ve been late twice now,” he begins. “Not just late, but very late. Once is an accident; twice is the beginning of a pattern. There will be no patterns of tardiness in this rehearsal space.”

“Got it, got it, be on time,” Richie says, waving a hand dismissively.

Eddie feels his blood boil. He hates actors who are rude, who think their talent can excuse bad behavior. 

“I don’t think you understand me,” Eddie says. “You will not be late to rehearsal again. You will show up on time; in fact, you will show up early. I will text you when you need to leave your apartment every day if I have to. But you will stop being late.”

“I think you’re just looking for an excuse to text me,” Richie responds, smirking at him.

Eddie can’t believe him. Richie thinks he can just flirt his way out of any situation, coast on his charm and moderately good looks. “I have no interest in talking to people who can’t show up on time, refuse to take their job seriously, and make everyone else’s lives harder. Are we clear?” he says, making eye contact with Richie. 

Richie gapes at him. He takes a moment and then says, “Got it,” in a croaky voice. Eddie pushes past him and makes his way back into the studio.

“How did it go?” Mike asks when Eddie slides into the seat next to him. 

“I guess we’ll find out next time he’s called,” Eddie responds.

Richie comes back in from the hallway. He doesn’t make eye contact with Eddie, instead slouching in his seat. Mike calls them together to do warmups and Eddie focuses on his rehearsal report. 

Richie is more subdued. He doesn’t crack jokes with the other actor, or fidget around. He takes direction from Mike without question, hits his beats perfectly. He’s giving a technically very good performance but it doesn’t seem like he’s having fun. Not that he should be having fun.

They finish blocking the scene and run through it once more. They break for the night, and the other actor, Ian, walks over to chat with Mike. Richie very quickly collects his things and leaves the rehearsal room, briefly tossing a ‘bye’ over his shoulder. 

Once Ian leaves, Eddie turns to Mike. “How do you think that went?” he asks Mike. 

“I think Ian needs to work on his Irish accent,” Mike says. “But other than that I feel really good about tonight. Whatever you said to Richie must have worked; I’ve never seen him take a rehearsal so seriously.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Eddie says. He feels weird for some reason. “Hopefully he can keep it up.”

He and Mike go to fold the tables and chairs. When the room is clear, Eddie spots something in the corner. It’s a copy of the script, with ‘Richie’ scrawled messily across the top. Eddie looks at it with frustration, and tucks it into his backpack.

He and Mike head out together. In the elevator on the way down, he texts Richie. 

**Hey, you left your script in the rehearsal room.**

Richie responds pretty immediately

_fuuuuuuuck_

_fuck i literally just got on the train or else i could come grab it from you_

He says goodbye to Mike outside the building, and starts walking to the A. It’s stopped raining, and the night has a muggy feeling, moisture hanging thick in the air. Eddie looks down at his phone. He was expecting a far more flippant response. He hates when people text and walk on the sidewalk, but it’s pretty empty and he doesn’t want to leave Richie hanging. 

**It’s okay,** Eddie responds. He’s had enough of being mean for the day. **I’ll just bring it to next rehearsal.**

_yeah but im not called till monday and i really wanna go over the script over the weekend_

_can i come grab it from u tomorrow_

**Sure, I get off work at 5; I can meet you somewhere.**

_FUCK_

_i start work at 4. can i meet u after im done? it’ll be kinda late but i can come grab it from your place_

**Where do you work?**

_at this bar in bushwick, happyfun hideaway_

Eddie thinks about it. He’s working in Midtown tomorrow, which isn’t exactly adjacent to Bushwick. But it would be way easier for him to go to Bushwick then back to Harlem then it would be for Richie to come all the way uptown and then back to Bushwick. And even though he’s annoyed at Richie for leaving his script behind, at least he’s not brushing this off like it’s insignificant.

 **I can drop it off at the bar after I’m done with work,** Eddie texts. **If that’s okay.**

_that would be amazing but u really dont have to do that_

**It’s also in my best interest that you learn your lines over the weekend. I’ll let you know when I’m on my way.**

_i owe u my life_

By this point Eddie has reached the subway entrance, so he pockets his phone and proceeds to take the stairs underground. 

He doesn’t fully know why he’s doing this for Richie. Part of it is that he feels bad for chewing out him earlier. Just because Richie set off his personal buttons doesn’t mean he had a right to be rude back. And Richie had seemed genuinely a little cowed.

He also has to admit that he is perhaps just the tiniest bit attracted to the man. He’s not his usual type; Eddie likes nice, quiet boys, boys he could bring around to his mother if his mother approved of any part of his life. Boys who had their shit together. He’d never been attracted to someone like Richie before; he’d never even met someone like Richie before. Eddie can’t help being captivated by the chaos, the rolling cloud of a person that is Richie Tozier. But he was damned if he was going to let Richie know that his flirtations were at least partially reciprocated. 

\---

Eddie feels fidgety at work the next day. He can’t concentrate on the phone calls he’s taking, and has to ask someone to repeat their name at least twice. When the clock strikes five he’s out of his chair as fast as possible, gathering his stuff. He texts Richie that he’s on his way, and Richie sends him a thumbs up back. 

He hasn’t heard of the bar where Richie works but that’s not surprising. He can list the venues he knows in New York on one hand and none of them are in Brooklyn. Luckily enough, the M will take him straight there. In total, this little venture is adding about an hour and a half onto his commute. But he wants to be a good stage manager and support his actors, so he catches the train and pulls out a book.

Happyfun Hideaway is dim inside, with string lights looping from the ceiling. It’s vaguely tropically decorated, with a light up flamingo behind the bar and shiny streamers hanging from the ceiling. The back room is already filling up, customers no doubt drawn in by the deals Eddie saw advertised outside.

Richie’s working behind the bar. Today he’s wearing a yellow button down with toucans all over it. Eddie notices he’s beginning cataloging Richie’s button downs, and determines to be slightly less attentive. He’s pouring a draft beer, a look of concentration on his face as he slicks off the overflowing foam at the top with a knife. There’s a spot open in front of him, and Eddie moves in.

“Hey,” he says. Richie looks up and offers him a small smile. “That was fast,” he says. 

“Made good time with the train,” Eddie responds. He digs through his shoulder bag and pulls out Richie’s script. “Here,” he says, handing it to him. “All in one piece.”

Richie reaches out, gently taking it out of Eddie’s grasp. “I can’t believe you did this,” he says, almost a little awestruck. "Without you I would have been totally fucked."

“It’s no problem. I want the show to be its best, you know,” Eddie says. There’s a beat of silence between them. “Well, I should go,” Eddie says, awkwardly turning towards the door.

“What, you’re gonna come all the way here and then immediately turn around and leave? You should stay and have a drink; it’s on the house.” Richie looks a little nervous almost, tapping his fingers against the counter. 

Eddie considers his offer. It’s a Friday night, and he has no other plans. He knows Bill and Audra have date night, a regular Friday appointment they try to keep despite Audra’s performance schedule. Stan is categorically opposed to making on the spot plans, and Riley’s in tech. So really, he doesn’t have anything better to do with his Friday evening.

“Well, if it’s free,” he says, taking the chair in front of Richie. Richie smiles widely at him. “What’s your poison?” he asks.

“Margarita, please,” Eddie says. Richie grabs for a glass and turns around to face the wall of liquor. “What type of tequila do you want?” he asks. Eddie looks at him a little blankly. “The alcoholic type?” he says. 

“Okay, do you like your liquor sweet? Spicy? Smokey?” Richie says. 

“I don’t really know,” Eddie responds. 

“We’re gonna take a chance on this, and if you don’t like it then I’ll make you a new one.” Richie grabs a bottle of tequila “Salt or not salt?” he asks. “Definitely salted,” Eddie says. “It’s too sweet otherwise.”

“Wouldn’t have necessarily pegged you for a cocktail guy,” Richie says, running a lime over the lip of the glass.

“I like my alcohol to taste good, and I’m guessing you don’t have wine.”

“That’s correct,” Richie says. “I could go home brew some in the toilet real quick if you really want it.” He pours a generous shot of tequila in the glass and tops it off with some lime juice. He grabs a lime slice and a paper umbrella, setting the lime on the side. He looks for a place to stick the umbrella and, finding none, shrugs and opens it up anyway. “For the gentleman, a Richie Tozier Special Mezcal Margarita.” He presents it on a coaster and offers Eddie the umbrella with a flourish. 

Eddie squeezes out the lime and takes a sip while Richie watches him eagerly. He doesn’t know what to do with the umbrella, so he just leaves it on the bar. 

It tastes like a smoke with the tiniest sour kick from the lime. The salt brings out everything more intensely, the flavor of the mezcal filling up Eddie’s throat with warmth.

“It’s delicious,” he says. Richie beams at him. 

“I’m not good at much but I know how to whip up a cocktail,” he says. 

“You’re a good actor,” Eddie says almost automatically. He backtracks. “When you bother to show up.”

Richie looks a little ashamed, fidgeting with his hands. “Yeah, I wanted to apologize about that.”

“You did?” Eddie says, looking at him blankly.

Richie scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t really have my shit together, you know? Like, I think I’m trying, but I could definitely be trying harder. I just forget stuff and lose track of time and then I fuck myself over. And usually think it’s whatever, it’s my mess. But then I make it other people’s mess and that’s not fair. I’m gonna be better from now on, I swear.”

Eddie didn’t expect this at all. It’s the most sincere he’s seen Richie be since they met. 

“I’m sorry too,” he says. “I was a little harsh. It’s just so important to me that the shows I work on are good, and it’s harder to do that when you can’t count on people to show up. I want to be able to rely on my actors. I mean, I think that’s what separates great actors from good ones. You can have all the talent in the world, but it’s the ability to notice when other people are slipping and pick up their slack, being someone who the production can count on to not fuck up props tracking. That’s the person who directors want to work with.”

“I can be that person. Or at least I can put a real effort into trying; don’t think I’m going to overcome being a fuck up in a day,” Richie says. “Can we have a fresh start?” He holds out his hand. “I’m Richie Tozier.”

Eddie sticks his own hand out and grasps Richie’s. “Eddie Kaspbrak, nice to meet you.” Richie’s hand is big and he presses his thumb a little over the top of Eddie’s knuckle. “Nice to meet you too, Eddie Spaghetti,” Richie says with a smile.

“Nope,” Eddie says. “There will be none of that. Absolutely no nicknames.”

Before Richie can respond, someone else sidles up to the bar and Richie goes off to attend to them. Eddie sips his margarita. He’s trying not to down it; he knows it’s strong but it’s also delicious. He fiddles with the little umbrella a little absently.

He notices a little rainbow flag hanging up behind the bar. Looking around, everyone looks vaguely queer, but that could just be Bushwick. 

Richie comes back over. “Sorry, sometimes I have to do my job. If it makes you feel better I don’t show up on time here either. That’s probably not going to change though; I don’t have a tough as nails, cute as a button stage manager to keep me in line.”

Maybe it’s the alcohol hitting his system-Eddie is unfortunately a bit of a lightweight-but he lets the flirting slide. 

“I’m not the stage manager of your life, just of you in this show. I don’t have the space in my life to be a full time disaster consultant.”

Richie laughs. He has a nice laugh; it starts in the corners of his mouth, and he tilts his head back just the slightest bit. 

“Is this a gay bar?” Eddie says, gesturing at the pride flag.

“It sure as shit is,” Richie says. “I’m lucky I landed this; I’ve been working at straight bars for years.”

“I’ve been to like two gays bars in my life,” Eddie says. Richie looks at him with confusion. “I thought you were-?”

“Oh, I most definitely am,” Eddie responds. “But I’m not really a bar person. I went to one gay bar in Chicago to see what it was like. It was fine; honestly, a little sporty. And there’s a place in the village I go to sometimes. My friend Riley’s dragged me to Cubbyhole a couple of times too,” he says, naming one of the two lesbian bars in the city. 

“Are you from Chicago?” Richie asks. “‘Cos, if so, me too.”

“No, I’m from shithole Maine,” Eddie says. “I went to Chicago for school.”

“U Chicago?” Richie asks. Eddie shakes his head no. “I would’ve pegged you for someone to seek out a place with the motto ‘where fun goes to die.’”

Eddie snorts, then throws back the rest of his cocktail. He shakes the empty glass at Richie. “If you’re going to be rude you have to at least keep giving me free drinks.”

Richie takes the glass, drops it in the sink, and grabs a fresh one. “Same thing?” he asks. “Yes please,” Eddie says. Richie starts pulling the ingredients together. “Northwestern?” he asks. 

“Got it,” Eddie says. 

“Funny, I must’ve left right after you got there. Came here to go to school, never left.”

“Where’d you go?” Eddie asks. 

“Julliard,” Richie says. Eddie must make an involuntary surprised face because Richie says, “Yeah, I don’t know how I swung that either.”

“Sorry, now I’m being the rude one,” Eddie says. 

“No sweat,” Richie says, placing his new drink down in front of him. “I like to keep expectations low so people will be way more impressed when I do something right.”

“To exceeding expectations,” Eddie says, raising his glass. Richie mimes his own and clinks his invisible drink against Eddie’s. 

It’s two drinks, then it’s three drinks, then it’s four drinks. The bar fills up more, customers jostling around the counter. Another bartender shows up eventually to help cover orders. Apparently the other bartender is one of the people charmed enough by Richie to let him get away with dumb shit because he lets him talk with Eddie in his off moments instead of cleaning glasses and wiping down the counter.

Richie chats with most of his customers, cracking dumb jokes and making puns on their drink orders. Eddie doesn’t mind being left alone from time to time. He’s pleasantly buzzed, the lights blurring out a little around him. 

He feels his phone vibrate. He pulls it out. Riley has texted him a photo of her lighting board. She’d switched to lighting design a couple of years into school, saying she was tired of being the go between for a bunch of babies who couldn’t communicate with each other on their own. In the cue list, there’s one labeled ‘get the fuck off the stage’ which she’s circled in the photo.

_y cant they get the fuck off the stage??? actors are such fucking idiots_

**most of them, yeah**

_ALL OF THEM EDDIE. THEY ARE ALL IDIOTS._

Eddie looks at Richie, who is currently trying to pour two types of alcohol into a glass at the same time, doing a good job with neither of them. He snorts.

Since his phone is out he checks the time for the first time since he walked in. It’s ten pm; he’s on his way to being solidly drunk, and he should go home before he’s gone enough to fall asleep on the subway and miss his stop. He tries to pull himself together a little-he doesn’t want Richie to know he’s a lightweight-and waits until Richie comes back over, then says “Hey, I should probably head out for the night, it’s a long train back home.”

“Do you want a margarita to go? I can whip you up a sippy cup with a little bendy straw.”

“You know, I think I’m good,” Eddie says, wobbling a little as he tries to get up. “You need to let me pay for at least some of those drinks though.”

“I’m the bartender, I get to make the rules.”

“That’s not true,” Eddie says. “The manager makes the rules. I make the rules,” he says, pointing to himself. He’s definitely drunk.

“Well, rule in favor of you getting free drinks. How else am I gonna keep luring you back here?” Richie says and winks. Eddie flushes, already a little pink from the alcohol. He pulls out his wallet and pulls out a ten. “I’m going to tip you,” he says. “You can’t stop me from doing that.”

“Top me, you said? You’re going to top me?” Richie’s smirking.

“No, I don’t-gah!” Eddie cuts himself off when he realizes what he’s saying. “I’m gonna stuff this money in the tip jar and you’re not gonna make any more comments. I’ll let that one slide ‘cos we’ve made so much progress this evening, so I’ll grant you one suggestive remark per day. Just one!” He says, holding up a finger. “Don’t make me put on my tough guy face.” Eddie lets his brows come together in the way he knows gives his forehead a very annoyed look.

Richie laughs. “How could I resist trying when your tough guy face is so damn cute? That’s not an implication,” he says, cutting off Eddie’s protests. “That’s just a statement of fact.”

Eddie’s a little too flustered to think of a good retort. Instead, he just grabs his chair from the back of his bag. “I’ll see you at rehearsal on Monday,” he says. “On time.”

“Anything for you, Eds.”

“Don’t call me Eds!” he calls out over his shoulder as he leaves. 

The cool air of the night hits him the second he’s out the door. It’s spring, but the temperature dropped when the sun did. He pulls his jacket a little closer around him and heads in the direction of the train.

His thoughts are swimming in his head. He can’t stop thinking about Richie’s shoulders in his button down, stretching the fabric. Richie’s hands wrapped around a bottle of liquor. How, when he’d expounded on this theory that chickens had the capability to evolve back into dinosaurs, leading to a breed of fat, barely able to fly, feathered T rex’s, Eddie had laughed so hard he choked on his drink. The genuine way his smile spread across his face when Eddie made him laugh in return. Fuck.

It was one thing being Richie’s stage manager and Richie flirting with him. It was an entirely thing to be his stage manager and to be flirting back. Eddie was in a position of power over Richie; he’d already had to throw his weight around once, and that was much harder to do if you suddenly had personal stake in your working relationship with an actor. 

It has always been a strict rule of Eddie’s not to hook up with people he did shows with. He’d seen the drama and chaos that ensued in his college theater department when they were all sleeping with each other, and Eddie liked the only drama in his life to be what he was putting on the stage. He’d made it a point to never even date another theater person.

But he’s dumb, stupid attracted to Richie.

He swipes into the subway and makes his way to the platform. He pulls out his phone and texts Riley.

**its always a bad idea to hook up with an actor from a show right**

Riley responds almost immediately.

_EDDIE NO_

He pouts. It was the answer he expected but not the answer he wanted. He thinks forward through the rest of the rehearsal process. He and Richie had only been in the room together twice so far, and Richie had taken over about seventy percent of his thoughts. He doesn’t picture it getting any better. 

He texts Bill.

**im so fucked**

Bill calls him in a couple of minutes. “Are you okay?” he says, concern in his voice. 

“You weren’ supp’sed to respond,” Eddie says. “You’re s’posa be on date night with Audra.”

“We’re watching a movie at home. Wait, are you drunk?”

“A little,” Eddie giggles. “Sometimes, if you get lucky, alcohol tastes good.”

“So you’re fine?” Bill sounds relieved.

“Yeah, yeah, you can go back to your date night.”

“Put him on speaker! I wanna hear why you’re fucked,” Audra yells from the background. “And who fucked you.”

“Richie fucking Tozier,” Eddie sighs. “Richie Tozier’s gonna wreck my life. He’s so fucking hot, you guys.”

Bill lets out a snort of laughter. “I knew you talked about him too much to not be into him.”

“He’s so stupid, you know? Like, he thinks he’s so fucking funny, but he is so fucking funny, so it’s just infuriating. And he’s tall. Did I tell you he’s tall?”

“These are good things,” Audra shouts back. “Sounds like you should fuck him.”

“Audra, he’s in my show,” Eddie whines. “I’m a consuming-consa-consumate professional. I can’t sleep with my actors. Stage managers who sleep with their actors don’t get hired again.”

“Since you’ve never done it before, I feel like you’re allowed one cheat.” Bill says.

“No, bad, bad,” Eddie groans. “You can’t encourage me.”

“Eddie, if you wanted someone to dissuade you, you would have texted Stan. I’m your bad decision friend.”

“No, I’m your bad decision friend,” Audra pipes in. “Bill’s just my sidekick.”

Eddie sees the lights on the train coming down the tunnel followed by the accompanying roar. “I gots to go,” he says. “Gotta hop on that train and head home. Don’ fuck on the couch,” he says.

“You are so drunk,” Bill says affectionately. “We’ll probably be in bed when you get home, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Love you, Bill,” Eddie says, the sentiment just slipping out.

“Love you too, Eddie. And you’re not fucked; you’re just at the beginning of being fucked.”

“Yeah he is!” Audra shouts out. 

“Stop it, stop it both of you, you’re both the worst,” Eddie says, making his way through the train doors. It’s pretty empty so he finds himself a seat. “I’m hanging up before you convince me to destroy my career.” He does, and settles down. He’s too drunk to read, so he pulls his headphones out and puts them in, queuing up Peter Gabriel. It’s a little cheesy but tipsy Eddie likes to feel cheesy.

Because he’s drunk, he keeps his phone out and makes the decision to text Richie.

**do u pick the music at the bar? if so nice work i love the cure**

He knows this is a transparent excuse to get in contact with the other man and he doesn’t care. The train starts to move so he loses service before he gets a response. He checks his phone at the next station but Richie still hasn’t texted back. So he zones out for the next forty minutes, letting the drums and synths of his favorite member of Genesis wash over him.

When he goes to switch trains he sees Richie has sent him something back. He waits till he’s done dodging through people and sitting down in a car once more. Richie’s said:

_all me baby. like i said, my bar, my rules_

Eddie doesn’t respond. When he gets off the train at his station he sees Richie has texted him again.

_i could share the bar playlist with u on spotify. if u want_

**yeah, that would be cool**

_feel free to tear it to pieces if u hate it_

**ill know to keep my expectations low**

He’s sobered up a little on the walk back to his apartment, the city coming into clearer focus around him. He lets himself quietly into through the front door so as to not wake up Bill and Audra. When he plugs his phone in he sees that ‘trashkingtozier’ has shared a Spotify playlist with him. He opens it up. It’s titled ‘songs to get the drunks to tip.’ He scrolls through it briefly; so far, he likes the music that he knows off of it. He puts his phone away, not bothering to set his alarm because it’s a weekend, and he immediately drops off to sleep.

In his dreams, he’s running somewhere after something or away from something; he knows he needs to be moving but he doesn’t know why. Trees and skyscrapers crowd together as he rushes down a path in the woods. The dream melts around him. Now all he can feel is the weight of big hands on his hips, the press of a bar against his back as someone pushes him back against it, a hot mouth on his neck. 

He wakes up at ten and groans. He’s not used to being hungover, and all the tequila has made this one a bitch. 

He thinks back over last night, worrying about his conduct even more in the fresh light of day. Richie had been just as flirtatious as usual, but Eddie had played right back at him. He scours his brain to remember if he said anything unprofessional. 

He absolutely can’t continue down this road. His work is far too important to him to throw away just because he’s developing a crush. Even if he likes Richie-which he doesn’t know for sure-he likes the life he’d built for himself here a whole lot more. 

That doesn’t stop him from listening to Richie’s playlist on repeat all weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Happyfun Hideway ](https://www.yelp.com/biz/happyfun-hideaway-brooklyn)is a real bar in Brooklyn! Highly recommend
> 
> As always, come talk to me on twitter [@beepbeepbxtch](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) and tumblr at [toziertool](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/)!


	4. i, wind, am blowing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie keeps it professional

Eddie gets to rehearsal thirty minutes early as usual. He tapes out the scenic plot again; he’s really gotten a feel for the angles at this point. Ten minutes before rehearsal starts he hears someone push in the door, followed by voices floating in through the hallway.

“And she says, “Ben and I did the dishes when you wanted to make weed brownies at midnight, why can’t you take out the recycling?’ And I reminded her that even though she ate fifty percent of the brownies, ninety percent of the recycling is packing materials from her fashion shit.”

Richie comes through the door, not stopping talking for a second as he twists his body back towards Mike, who’s following him into the room. He turns around and sees Eddie crouched down, gently placing a corner of spike tape. “Spaghetti Man! Look at you, down on your knees,” Richie says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“And with the very first thing out of your mouth you’ve filled your suggestive remark quota for the day. I’m expecting immaculate behavior from now on,” Eddie says, sitting up and back on his heels.

“Goddamn it, can’t believe I wasted it on that. Ah well,” Richie says, dropping into a chair. “I’ll do better next time.”

Mike has made his way into the room and is looking at them with some confusion; Eddie realizes he’s heard both of their over familiar comments. He’s incredibly conscious of the implications of Richie’s words and he feels the tips of his ears go a little red. 

Richie’s picked up on Mike’s look too. “Oh, we get along now,” he says, gesturing between himself and Eddie.

“As long as you continue to come to rehearsal on time,” Eddie clarifies. He doesn’t want to appear overly casual with his actors. Even if Richie knows Mike, Eddie doesn’t know either of them that well yet, and he doesn’t want Mike to get the impression Eddie is doing anything inappropriate. He finishes smoothing down the corner of the tape and stands up, making his way back to his seat at the table.

Richie pulls one of the folding chairs from against the wall and sets up next to Eddie. “Tell me, Eds,” he says. “Got any crazy weekend stories to report?”

“Please don’t call me Eds,” he responds with far more politeness than he did in the past. “And no, not really.” He’s trying not to engage but that’s also the truth. He, Bill, and Audra had gone for hangover brunch on Saturday-at least it was hangover brunch for Eddie-and they’d had rehearsal on Sunday. Other than that, he’d spent the rest of the weekend doing his show paperwork and reading.

Richie frowns a little. “Oh. Cool.” He pauses. “Did you listen to the playlist?” he asks a little eagerly.

“Yes, I did,” Eddie says. 

“So, what did you think?” Richie says.

“It was good,” Eddie says neutrally. “Seems like people at the bar would like it.”

Eddie had loved the playlist. In addition to the Cure, Richie had put on a lot of Bowie, some Arctic Monkeys. He didn’t much care for the Nirvana on it but it wasn’t too heavily present. He’d never heard of a couple of the artists on the playlist and those were the songs he kept coming back to, listening to ‘Moving to New York’ and ‘These Days’ over and over again.

“Oh, uh, that’s . . . good,” Richie says. He picks at the edges of his nails. 

Before Richie can make any further attempts at conversation the other two actors arrive, and Mike begins talking through the scene.

After an hour twenty Eddie calls for break and heads down the hallway to get water. Turning around from the fountain, he sees Richie standing behind him. “Hey,” Richie says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Hi,” Eddie says, flustered by the way he has to crane his neck to look at Richie.

Richie chews on his bottom lip. “Did I . . . did I do something to upset you? Because I thought we were good, it seemed like we were good, and now it feels like we’re not good anymore. And I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Eddie feels like a dick. It’s not fair for him to punish Richie just because he doesn’t want other members of the cast to know he’s friendly with one of the actors.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. “I’m sorry for making it seem like that. It’s just, we’re in rehearsal, and I have to be professional in the rehearsal space. We both have to be professionals.”

“Oh. So we’re . . . good?” Richie looks hopeful.

Eddie gives him a small smile. “Yeah Richie, we’re good.” He moves past him to go to the rehearsal room and stops. “And, uh, I loved your playlist. ‘Heroes’ is one of my favorite songs.”

“Mine too,” Richie says. He gives him a little smile in return.

They start getting the scene on his feet, and Eddie does a marginally better job of not focusing all his attention on Richie. It’s hard, when he commands the room so well. Richie takes Mike’s direction seriously, changing his gestures and inflections whenever Mike makes suggestions. When they wrap up for the evening Mike is smiling, pleased. 

“Great job tonight, everybody. Atticus and Jonathan, great rhythm. And Richie, you’re really nailing those beats in the Wee Seamus conversation. Keep looking over your lines, but I feel good about the work we got done here tonight.”

They all start packing up. Richie shoves his script into his bag and stands up. “See you later, Eddie,” he says, emphasizing the last word, not really hiding the laughter in his eyes.

Eddie holds back a smile because he's a professional. “Have a good night, Richie,” he says in response. Richie waves and heads out the door.

He and Mike get the room back into its original shape, then head out to ride the elevator down together. 

“I’m glad you and Richie have reached some kind of peace. He’s really great, when you get to know him. And when he bothers to take things seriously,” Mike says.

“I can see that now. How did you meet him?” Eddie asks. 

“I was directing a show he was in. He was late all the time to that too, but the stage manager let it slide. But when he really engages he makes the energy in the room fuller. He’s good at making people laugh, even if he doesn’t always have a great sense of where the line is.”

They say goodbye outside the building and make their opposite ways to the train. Eddie puts Richie’s playlist on for the walk. Once he’s waiting on the platform, he pulls his phone from his pocket.

**My one complaint is ‘Love Shack.’ That’s just objectively a bad song.**

Richie responds while he’s still waiting for the train.

_no taste!! classic ode to shed fucking_

Eddie’s train arrives before he can text back. When he pulls into the next station and gets service he sees Richie’s texted him again.

_would u maybe have time to run lines with me sometime this week? i need someone to correct me every time i fuck up the phone monologue_

**Sure,** Eddie responds without thinking. **Which works better for you, Wednesday or Thursday?** he says, naming their two nights off rehearsal.

_i have a night shift on weds, can u do thurs?_

**That actually works better anyway,** Eddie responds, remembering he agreed to dinner with Bill, Audra, Stan, and Patty on Wednesday night. 

Richie says, _u wanna come over after ur done with work?_

Eddie’s train starts moving before he has a chance to respond. If he was worried about the familiarity of their actions in a stuffy rehearsal room he can’t imagine being in Richie’s home. But it doesn’t not make sense to go over to Richie’s to run lines. Cafes could be loud, and going to a park or somewhere outside would be full of distractions. Working in someones’ apartment was the only logical conclusion. 

**That works,** he says. **I’m done at 5 again.**

_sweet see you then_

\----

Eddie, Bill, Audra, Stan, and Patty are gathered around a table in a little Mediterranean restaurant Audra picked out. Stan and Patty only live a little south of Bill and Eddie, so it’s convenient for all. Eddie’s grateful his friends live close by; doing social things came much more easily when it didn’t require several train rides. Riley lives in Brooklyn and they always have to meet in the middle. 

Patty’s in the middle of telling a story about one of her students. “No matter what I do, I just can’t get him to understand fractions. I keep finding different things to divide into pieces but he just stops seeing them as the same part of something and just sees them as their own objects. One out of seven is the same to him as seven out of seven. I just don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” she says upsetly.

Stan tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “There’s nothing you’re doing wrong, babylove. Math is hard for some kids.”

“Math is hard for some adults,” Audra says. 

“Remember how our teachers told us in grade school that we needed to learn math because we wouldn’t carry calculators in our pockets all the time? What a bunch of liars,” Bill says.

Patty turns to Stan. “You’re so good at numbers Stan, how would you explain fractions to a child?”

“Worse than you’re doing, I’m sure,” Stan says. 

She smiles at him. 

“You’re a great teacher, Patty,” Eddie interjects. “I would lose it the first day a kid mouthed off at me.”

She turns her smile towards him now. “You’re so sweet, Eddie. I’m so glad you could make it tonight. It seems like you have rehearsal all the time.”

“I do have rehearsal all the time,” Eddie tells her. “We just got lucky tonight.”

“How’s the process going?” Stan asks, taking a bite of his food.

“Good,” Eddie says. “The show itself seems like it’s shaping up well, the energy in the room is more focused. And I think you guys would really like Mike.” After they broke for the day yesterday Mike had asked Eddie if he wanted to get drinks for one of the actor’s birthdays on Friday after rehearsal and Eddie had actually agreed. 

“Invite him to something,” Bill said. 

“I’ll see if he wants to come to trivia,” Eddie says, referencing their semi-monthly trivia nights. “I’m sure there’s something he knows a lot about. I think he works at the library for his survival job.”

“But you’re having a good time making the show in general?” Patty asks. “You’re enjoying rehearsal?”

“Oh, Eddie is enjoying rehearsal a great deal,” Bill says.

Eddie glares at him. “Shut it,” he says between gritted teeth.

Stan looks back and forth between them. “What don't I know?” he says.

“Eddie wants to fuck one of his actors,” Audra says, taking a sip of wine.

Eddie splutters. “I do not!”

“Yeah, but you do,” Audra responds. Eddie turns to Bill, who shrugs helplessly. 

“Can’t deny the facts,” Bill says.

“But that’s a good thing!” Patty says, looking at Eddie. “It’s been so long since you met someone who you like.”

“Or even someone you want to have sex with,” Bill adds.

“It hasn’t been that long,” Eddie mutters. “And I don’t like him!”

“It sounds like you like him,” Stan says dryly.

“You definitely like him,” Audra confirms. “You went to Bushwick to give him his script.”

Stan looks at him and raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. “You went to Bushwick?”

“I like Bushwick,” Eddie says defensively.

“You hate Bushwick,” Stan replies. “I don’t even know if you’d ever been to Bushwick before but I know you hate it.”

“I needed to make sure he learned his lines,” Eddie says in response. “It’s for the good of the show. I’m running lines with him at some point too; that’s entirely professional.”

Audra puts down her fork. “You’re running lines with him? Outside of rehearsal?”

“Yeah, so what?” Eddie asks.

“Eddie, I can’t remember the last time I ran lines with my stage manager other than when the director was working other moments during rehearsal. You’re meeting up with him, in your free time, to run lines?”

“For the good of the show!” Eddie repeats.

“Where are you running lines?” Bill asks.

Eddie pushes his food around his place. “His place,” he mumbles.

“Oh, Eddie,” Patty sighs.

If it was from anyone other than her he would make some kind of outburst, but out of everyone at the table he’s not going to yell at her. “It was his suggestion,” he says.

“Of course it was,” Audra responds. “Because he’s trying to sleep with you.”

“He’s just a flirt,” Eddie says unconvincingly. “He doesn’t mean anything by it.” 

“I bet he’s interested,” Patty says. “I just bet he likes you.”

“I think you should do it,” says Audra. “He’s pretty hot.”

“I want to see for myself; what’s his instagram?” says Bill, pulling out his phone. 

“I bet I can find someone who’s tagged him in a pic,” Audra says, getting out her own phone. 

“We’re not doing this!” Eddie says furiously. Bill puts his phone away, Audra keeps going. “Got it!” she said excitedly. “Found a cast photo someone posted. Hope he’s gotten a haircut since then.”

“You’re good at that,” Bill says admiringly, leaning over to look at her phone screen. “What’s his handle?” Eddie glares at him. “Nope,” he says. “No more.” Audra reluctantly puts her phone away.

“Besides, I don’t want to get laid for the sake of getting laid,” Eddie protests. “I’m not into that.” 

“Then do it because you like him,” says Bill.

“I don’t like him!”

“I don’t think you should do it,” Stan says, taking a sip of water.

“See!” Eddie says triumphantly. 

“Because he’s an actor in your show and you don’t need that kind of dynamic in a workspace. It’s bad practice to sleep with your co-workers. It will make the rest of the process messy even if things with him go well.”

“Isn’t a little messiness fun though?” Audra says. 

“No one encourage him,” Stan says. 

Patty turns to him. “I don’t think you’re right, love. When people work together they get to know each other in different ways. Lots of great relationships start from collaborations.”

“No one’s talking about a relationship,” Eddie says. 

“Oh, so we are talking about something, then?” Bill says, smirking.

“You know what?” Eddie responds, pointing with his fork. “What we’re talking about is something else. Stan,” he says, turning to his most reliable ally in this discussion. “Are you still planning that trip upstate to spot that bird-the blue tipped tail?”

“Blue winged teal,” says Stan, clearly pleased Eddie remembered at least partially. “And yes, I think I’m going to go in a couple of weeks.”

Stan keeps talking about his trip and Eddie is relieved to have the attention off him. He sips his water, feeling the coldness fill his mouth. His palms are sweaty and he wraps one hand around the condensation on the glass to cool it down.

There’s nothing untoward about going to Richie’s apartment to run lines. He’s just being a good stage manager.

\---

The next day Eddie takes extra care getting dressed, pulling out the black pants he owns that he knows makes his ass look nice. He tries to make his hair do the thing where it lays down flat instead of curling up at the edges but he doesn’t have much luck. 

When he checks his phone during his lunch break he sees Richie’s texted him his address. It’s not far from the bar Richie works so Eddie knows how to get there already. Even if he hadn’t been there before he’s always been able to guide himself anywhere he needs to go, navigate himself around the subway from the moment he first got to the city. Bill says he’s the first person for whom the subway system makes intrinsic sense. His anxiety still makes him check google maps sometimes, but today he’s trusting his instincts. 

He texts Richie when he’s finished with work and heading out of the office, hops on the train, and catches up on emails in the times the train stops between stations.

He gets off about forty minutes later and makes his way to Richie’s apartment. Stan is unfortunately right; Eddie does hate Bushwick. The subway is above ground here, and it hangs above the road, ugly metal looming above head. The streets splinter off into different angles; Eddie loves the grid system of Manhattan, and he finds the randomness of the neighborhood disorienting. 

Richie lives in a three story apartment building about five minutes away from the train. Eddie nervously presses the button and waits. He hears the door buzz open and pushes inside, climbing the two flights of stairs to Richie’s floor. When he gets to the landing Richie is standing in the doorway to his apartment. Richie lights up when he sees him. 

“Eddie Spaghetti has arrived!” he says. He moves out of the doorway and makes a sweeping gesture into his apartment. “Welcome to Chez Tozier-Marsh-Hanscom!”

“Why do you get to be first?” Eddie hears a female voice call from inside. “We both got on the lease at the same time.”

“I found this place,” Richie calls back. 

“Yeah, you did, and it’s terrible.”

“Next time you can do all the hard work of touring apartments!” Richie yells. Eddie’s still standing outside the doorway. “Here, come in,” Richie says, moving out of the way. 

Despite Richie’s roommate's words the apartment isn’t awful. It’s mainly made up of a cozy living room; Eddie can see a kitchen down a little hallway off to the side. There’s colorful paintings on the walls, a worn, comfy looking velvet couch, and a TV with an xbox. Sitting at the table in the living room is a woman with sketching papers strewn about her. She’s wearing a silk robe, and has chin length red hair that curls around her face. She’s one of the most beautiful women Eddie has ever seen.

He looks between her and Richie. Maybe Richie’s flirtations were just some way to blow off steam outside of his relationship.

“Eddie, this is angel in human form Beverly Marsh. Bev, this is the tenacious, the punctual, the one and only Eddie Spaghetti!” he says in an announcer’s Voice.

“You can’t introduce me to people as that,” Eddie says. “No way is that nickname spreading.”

Beverly smiles. “He loves his nicknames,” she says. “It’s nice to meet you, Eddie.”

“Bev is only one of my roommates,” says Richie, plopping down on the couch. “Her counterpart in wit and good charm, handsome Hanscom, works late every night not because he’s required to, but because he just doesn’t know how to call it quits.”

So not Richie’s girlfriend. Eddie tries not to feel relieved. 

“Eddie’s here to get me into tip top performance shape. He’s generously offered to run lines with me.”

“You asked me to run lines,” Eddie says, taking the other end of the couch. 

“Oh yeah, guess I did,” Richie says brightly. “Well, I need it either way.”

“Thank god you’re here,” Bev tells Eddie. “Usually Ben and I have to do this with him, and he won’t stop making fun of the Irish accents we try.”

“Out of love!” Richie protests. “How else are you going to get better?”

“I don’t need to get better, Richie,” Beverly says patiently. “I’m not an actor.”

Eddie is feeling a little out of it, overwhelmed by their back and forth, and Bev is apparently sensitive enough to pick up on that. “Eddie, can I get you water or anything?”

“I’m alright, thank you,” he says. 

She gets up from the table anyway. “I need some anyway, you can't stop me from grabbing a glass for you too.”

“Well, if you insist,” Eddie says, pleased by her demeanor.

She goes into the kitchen and Richie turns his attention back to him. “How was your day?” he asks. “See any good brawls on the street?”

“Just some pigeons fighting over spilled falafel,” Eddie says, pulling his script out. “Now, what scene do you want to start with?”

Richie sighs. “Right down to business, I see. Fine, have your way. I wanna look at Scene II,” he says. “Hold on, let me go grab my script.”

Richie unfolds his long limbs from the couch and heads down the hallway to what is presumably his bedroom.

Bev returns with two glasses of water. “You know, I’ve heard a lot about you,” she says to Eddie in a confidential tone. 

Eddie looks at her with confusion. “You have?”

“I’d say forty percent of the conversations in this apartment these past two weeks have been Eddie Kaspbrak focused. It’s nice to finally meet you,” she says, handing him his water. 

“Good things?” he says.

She smiles at him. “Definitely good things,” she responds.

Richie returns, script in hand. He looks at the two of them suspiciously. “You spreading lies to this sweet boy?” he asks. “Besmirching my character?”

“Impossible to besmirch what is already smirched beyond belief,” she tells him, re-taking her seat at the table. 

Richie gives her a pointed look. She doesn’t budge. He sighs. “Bev. Beverly. Babe of babes, maybe you should clear out of the living room,” Richie suggests. “I’m probably going to get pretty loud.”

“I’m working here,” she says, gesturing to her papers.

“You can work in your bedroom,” Richie tells her.

She gives him a long, knowing look. “I will move,” she says, gathering up her things. “Not only because I love you, but because I need to use my sewing machine for a while anyway.”

“You’re the dearest dear in the world,” Richie says, dropping a kiss on her head as he goes by. He plops back down on the couch across from Eddie. “Okay, drill sergeant, you ready to go?”

Eddie flips open his script. “Let’s do this.”

It’s a three page long monologue, which isn’t terrible, but it’s all in response to a phone call which the audience can’t hear, so Richie has some work to do mentally filling in the other lines. They go through the entire monologue and make up what the other responses could be. Eddie says them back to Richie during the monologue, trying out his own Irish accent, which Richie encourages with a straight face until he can’t but break down into snorts. 

An hour goes by, and Richie has pretty much nailed the monologue. “I think we’re good,” Eddie says, stretching out. “It seems like you have all the beats down.”

“We could work something else,” Richie says. “We could do the Mairead scene.”

“Sure, but we should take a break,” Eddie says. “There’s only so much fake crying you can do without needing a breather.”

“A break sounds good,” says Richie, getting up and walking towards the kitchen. “I’m getting a beer, do you want something?”

“You shouldn’t drink if we’re going to keep running lines,” Eddie tells him.

“If I’m going to be drunk for all the performances I should probably learn my lines drunk too.”

When Eddie doesn’t respond Richie ducks his head back out of the kitchen. Eddie has a look of displeasure on his face so immense he feels like it could peel paint.

“You really hated that one, huh?” Richie says, grinning.

“There are some things you can’t joke about,” Eddie says.

“There’s nothing you can’t joke about,” Richie tells him. “So no drinking and script reading? Fine,” he says, heading back to the couch.

“We could just have a drink instead of doing more lines,” Eddie says. He doesn’t know what compelled him to say that. “I mean, I feel pretty good with where you’re at. Do you?”

Richie looks taken aback for a moment, then quickly responds, “No, I feel great about it, let’s drink.”

“But only if you have something other than beer,” Eddie adds.

Richie ducks back into the kitchen. “I’m sure we have a bottle of wine around here somewhere.”

After a moment, he calls out “Red or white?”

“White, please!” Eddie calls back.

Richie returns with a glass of wine and a beer for himself. “For the gentleman, a sauvignon blanc,” he says, pulling out a spotless French accent. “You’re lucky it was in the fridge, else I would have had to throw a couple of ice cubes in.”

Eddie takes the glass from him. “Cheers,” Richie says, and clinks his glass against his. “To professionalism.” He grins broadly at Eddie. Instead of addressing that, Eddie just takes a sip of the wine. It’s not good but it’s also not bad.

“Did you take a class on accents in school or something?” Eddie asks.

Richie folds his long limbs onto the couch next to Eddie. “Nope, I’ve just always been into doing them. I used to be terrible. Like, when I was a kid I would just do them constantly, and my parents, bless their hearts, would just let me bounce them off of them without telling me I had no natural talent. My dad was actually good at them, and he always encouraged me. But some negative reinforcement when I was older taught me I was atrocious at them, so I just kept practicing and I got better and better. I think part of the reason I got into Julliard is because I did this Macbeth monologue for my audition and absolutely nailed the Scottish accent.”

“What’s your best?” Eddie asks.

“My best is super racist, so I can’t really do it in polite company,” Richie says. “Second best is my West Virginia accent. ‘We mighta left the south but the south never left our hearts,’ he drawls, somewhere in between a southern voice and a mountain burr. 

“Have you ever needed that for a show?” Eddie asks.

“Nah, but just you wait and see, when someone writes the great coal mining magnum opus I’m first in line for the lead.”

“You’re good at the Voices,” Eddie tells him. He can feel the tips of his ears flush from the wine. 

Richie grins at him. “You’re a good stage manager,” he says, taking a pull of his beer.

“I know,” Eddie responds, and Richie laughs. 

“Sorry, it’s just stage managing is the first thing I ever felt like I was good at, and I don’t need to pretend I don’t feel that way,” says Eddie, continuing to sip at his wine. 

“I like how you said first,” Richie says. “Acting is the only thing I’m good at.”

“I bet that’s not true,” Eddie says automatically, because he believes it. “There must be more than that to the man of a thousand Voices.”

“Yeah, wanna see what else I can do with my mouth?” Richie says.

Eddie points at him. “Suggestive remark quota filled.”

“Assumptions! I was just gonna say I could deep throat this beer bottle like nobody’s business.” Richie pauses. “Oh. I guess that’s still suggestive. Damn.”

Eddie takes another gulp of his wine. “Do you want to be good at things other than acting?”

“Nah,” Richie said. “I’d rather just be a really, really excellent actor, everything else can take a backseat. Okay,” Richie says, propping up his feet. “Tell me your worst show horror story.”

Eddie tells him about the time he worked on a play where they barely did a run through before tech and had no idea how long the show was. Richie tells him about being on stage with an actor who forgot all his lines, leading Richie to have to ad lib an entire scene. They swap anecdotes back and forth, Richie getting up at some point to get another drink for both of them. 

Eventually, Eddie hears a key being turned, followed by the sound of someone swinging the door open. 

“Benny-Boy,” Richie calls out. “We have company.”

Richie’s other roommate comes into view. He’s somehow just as good looking as Bev, dimpled face dusted with stubble. 

“Hi,” Ben says, putting down his bag. “Introduce us, please.”

“Ben, this is my stage manager, Eddie. Eds, this is the kindest, sweetest, most spatially brilliant architect I know.”

“Only architect you know,” Ben says. “It’s so nice to meet you, Eddie, I’ve heard so much about you.”

Eddie looks at Richie. “Did you talk about me with both of your roommates?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Richie responds. “Had to let everyone know about the cutest boy in all of New York.”

Beverly comes out of her bedroom. She smiles a soft, wide smile when she sees Ben, and goes on over to him to press a kiss on his cheek. He offers a shy little smile at her in return, and leans down to kiss her on the lips.

“Hubba hubba,” Richie calls out. “Take it to the bedroom, why don’t you? Not like I wouldn’t be able to hear it. “‘Oh Ben,’” he says in a breathy voice. “‘Yes, Ben!’”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Bev says. “Also, it appears you’re not running lines anymore, meaning you’ve forfeited exclusive rights over the living room. Babe,” she says to Ben, heading into the kitchen. “Whiskey?”

“Yes, thank you” he says, dropping into the love seat adjacent to the couch.

“I’ll take a beer,” Richie yells out. “Didn’t ask!” Bev calls back, followed by “Eddie, do you want some more wine?”

“Yes please,” Eddie says. Richie fake pouts at him. “How does she like you more already?”

Bev comes back into the room with a glass of whiskey, a bottle of wine, and two beers tucked underneath her arm. She pours a generous pull of wine into Eddie’s glass and hands Richie one of the bottles. She plops down next to Ben on the love seat and passes him his whiskey. She pops open her beer and stretches her legs out over her boyfriend’s lap. Ben begins to rub her feet.

“Long day?” Beverly asks.

“Not too bad,” Ben responds. “Better, now that I’m here with you.” They smile at each other. Eddie feels like he’s intruding on something intimate just by watching them. 

Bev turns to Eddie. “Eddie, do you want to stay for dinner? It’s just leftovers, but it’s good.”

Eddie is fairly hungry; lunch was a long time ago. He’s conscious of his continued muddling of personal and professional bounds but there was no rule he couldn’t be friendly with Richie’s roommates. “I’d like that, that’s very kind of you,” he says.

“Give me a minute,” Bev says. “This feels too nice for me to move.”

“How did designing go?” Ben asks. 

“Really wonderfully,” Beverly says. “I’ve figured out how to maintain the right level of raggedness in the hem.”

“Bev does clothes,” Richie tells Eddie. “If you keep coming round here you’ll be dragged into being a mannequin for her at some point.”

“You’d look beautiful in the overalls I’m working on right now,” Bev says. “Richie doesn’t have the figure to fill them out.”

“So cruel,” says Richie, leaning back and flinging a hand over his forehead. “So continually cruel to me.”

“Oh, you deserve it,” Eddie says, and Bev and Ben both laugh. 

They chat around the coffee table for a bit before Beverly rouses herself to go heat up the food. They move to the little table and keep drinking, getting pleasantly loose in the warmth of the apartment. Ben is an attentive listener, asking Eddie follow up questions to the things Eddie says about himself. Bev loves to laugh, and it seems to come easily to her. She teases Richie and he teases her right back. 

They finish up dinner, and Eddie checks the time. It’s not tremendously late, but he’s picking up a shift tomorrow morning. “I should go,” he says, stretching out. “Can I help with the dishes?”

“We can handle it,” Bev says, smiling at him. “I know you have a long way home.” She gets up from the table and starts clearing their plates. Eddie goes back to the couch and gathers his things. When he turns back around, Ben and Beverly have disappeared into the kitchen, and Richie is standing up. “Thanks,” he says. “For the lines and stuff.”

“You don’t have to thank me, it’s part of my job,” Eddie says, leaning down to pick up his script. 

“Well, thanks for hanging out, then,” Richie says.

“You don’t have to thank me for that either.”

Eddie glances up and meets Richie’s eyes. Richie’s staring at him. He can’t look away from Richie’s gaze. There’s something heavy in the air, an unspoken communication passing between the two of them. Eddie doesn’t want to look away. He wants to keep looking into Richie’s eyes until they swallow him whole.

Before either of them can say anything, Beverly comes out of the kitchen to grab the rest of the plates. She pauses, looks between them, and keeps moving towards the table. Eddie breaks Richie’s gaze and puts his script into his bag.

"See you later, Eddie!" Bev calls over her shoulder as she goes back into the kitchen. "Nice to meet you!" Ben yells out. "Come back anytime!"

Eddie makes his way to the door, and Richie opens it for him. “Are you going out tomorrow night after rehearsal for Dean’s birthday?” Richie asks.

“Yeah, I think so,” Eddie responds. “Are you?”

“Planning on it. So I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“You’ll see me at rehearsal anyway,” Eddie says. He moves past Richie into the hallway, then stops and turns back. “This was-this was fun,” he says. 

“I thought so too,” said Richie.

Eddie catches himself staring into Richie’s eyes just a little too long again and has to drop his gaze down. “Bye,” he says, turning around.

“Night, Eds,” Richie says, and closes the door. 

Eddie walks down the stairs, head swimming, and not from the alcohol. Being around Richie makes him lighter, and he feels a little bit like he’s coming down from something, like he was on an altered plane of existence the whole time he was in Richie’s apartment. He barely registers the walk to the train, making his way to the platform on autopilot. He sits slumped on the bench and pulls out his phone. He texts Bill.

**So maybe I like him. What the fuck do I do about it?**

When Bill responds he, to his credit, doesn’t give Eddie shit.

_You figure out how to have a working relationship with someone who you have some other kind of relationship with. Whatever you might want that relationship to be._

Eddie thinks about what his job means to him, what his career means to him. How important the cultivation of his good relationship with Mike is, especially since it seems like Mike could become a real friend after this show was over. How he could destroy all that just because he’s developed a crush, no matter how overwhelming that crush may be. He texts Bill back,

**Nothing is the correct thing to do. Until the show is over.**

_It’s your life,_ Bill says. _But I don’t think it would be as bad as you think._

Eddie can’t let himself slip up. He’s never let his personal life get in the way of his work before and he doesn’t want to start now.

He closes his eyes for the rest of the train ride and tries not to think about the way Richie’s eyes gleam behind his glasses, or the line of his throat when he throws his head back to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm projecting my hatred of Bushwick onto Eddie
> 
> Come talk to me on twitter [@beepbeepbxtch](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) and tumblr [toziertool](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/)!


	5. friendship wrongly juxtaposed in delicacy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cast goes out for drinks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for this chapter: non-graphic incident of vomiting. To avoid, cut from the beginning of "Ian woozily sits up" to "this is already gross enough, do you have to make it worse?"

Eddie comes to rehearsal the next day fully prepared to keep his professional boundaries up. He tried not to put too much effort into what he’s wearing; it’s not his fault he needed to dress up a little bit for drinks after rehearsal. 

Rehearsal goes relatively smoothly; it’s one of the bigger scenes towards the end of the play, so all of the actors are there. However, coordinating the violence is a little messy; they can’t use prop guns in the rehearsal space, so they substitute shoes. Richie brandishes his high top, looking absolutely ridiculous as he pretends to shoot people. He twirls it around his finger, and when he catches Eddie looking at him tries to throw it behind his back and grab it. He fails and Eddie snorts.

They all pack up at the end of rehearsal, heading down to the lobby. There are very few non-touristy spots in the area of Manhattan they’re in, but Richie, with his infinite knowledge of bars, has picked a relatively out of the way place. They all pile into the bar and spread out to different tables. Eddie ends up seated around a high round top with Richie and Mike. 

“I’ll use bartender code to get us extra special drinks,” Richie says, hopping down from his seat. He points to Eddie. “Cocktail or wine?” he asks.

“Cocktail,” Eddie responds. “Something with rum, something sweet.”

“And for you?” he asks, turning to Mike.

“Whatever IPA they have,” he says. Richie heads on over to the bar. Eddie watches him charm the bartender for a moment before turning back to Mike to ask him a question about rehearsal. Mike, luckily, seems oblivious to the way Eddie’s attention is constantly drawn to Richie. 

Richie returns, awkwardly trying to tuck his glass of beer underneath his arm. Just a little spills over onto his shirt. He deposits their drinks at a table. “I got you a mojito,” he tells Eddie. “Most bars don’t have fresh mint so I thought I’d take advantage of it.”

Eddie takes a sip. “Good pick,” he tells Richie. 

Richie slides back into his seat. “Not as good as I could make it, I promise you.”

“I don’t think a fresh plant has ever seen the inside of your bar,” Eddie tells him.

“You’re still at Happyfun Hideaway?” Mike asks.

“I’ll be there until they fire me. Or until I make it big enough to not have to work a fucking day job.”

“That’s the dream for all of us,” Mike says.

“Yeah, I can’t wait until all I have to do five days a week is go to a six hour long rehearsal and then have nothing but time to do my paperwork,” says Eddie. “I like temping most of the time but some days it just seems so pointless. I feel like pulling an Office Space, just wailing on the copier until it explodes.” He mimes swinging a baseball bat. 

Richie laughs, and Mike joins him. “I could never go corporate,” Mike says. “I work at the library so I at least have something interesting to engage with.”

“See, I thought it was so you could hit on all the babes at the circ desk,” Richie says. 

“Not all of us think about getting laid all the time,” Mike says jokingly. Eddie shifts uncomfortably. Richie’s eyes flicker to him.

“But you don’t wanna be working at the library forever, do you, Mikey?” Richie says. “You gotta have bigger dreams than that.”

“I just want to make something that means something, even if it’s just once in my life.”

Richie scoffs. “Soft,” he says. “I want to be famous. An icon. The funniest man to ever grace the stages of Broadway.”

“You could do Phantom,” Eddie says. “You know, the gruesome disfigurement behind the mask.”

“You wound me, Eds, truly you do,” Richie says. 

“If you call me Eds one more time I’ll be the one to disfigure you,” Eddie warns. Mike watches them in amusement.

They talk for several hours, going on about their dream shows and people they’ve collaborated with. They switch off buying rounds of drinks and going to the bar to grab them. As much as Eddie likes being around just Richie, there’s something that feels right about including Mike, a sense of gentleness to balance out their bickering. 

Eventually, it gets late, even for a Friday night. Rehearsal ended at ten and they’ve been out for a while. Eddie’s at the pleasant stage of loose tipsiness and he can tell Mike and Richie are there too. “I’m going to head home,” Mike says. “Got a full day tomorrow of getting teens excited in literacy.”

Eddie shudders. “That sounds like my worst nightmare. Teenagers scare the shit out of me.”

“‘That man, he’s go feminine hips!’” Richie says in an impression of John Mulaney. “The trick is, you gotta be mean right back to them. Teenagers are so fucking insecure.”

Mike shrugs his jacket on. “Some of them have things to say worth listening to,” he says. “I’ll see you guys next week.” He walks off, leaving Richie and Eddie by themselves for the first time that night. 

Eddie shifts. He hadn’t been avoiding Richie at all, he just doesn’t think it’s a great idea for the two of them to be alone right now. Especially since he’d been drinking. Even though he’d been partially drinking the lower the constant tension he felt from being around Richie. Which hadn’t helped; it had in fact made things worse. 

“We should check in on the others,” he says, hopping out of his chair. He makes his way to the bar and hopes Richie’s following him. When he gets there, he finds three of the actors left; the rest, including the birthday boy, have headed home. 

One of the remaining cast members is slumped over the bar, head folded over his hands. Eddie looks at him in concern. “Is he okay?” he asks the other two actors.

Atticus looks over and shrugs. “He just had too much to drink.”

Eddie sobers up real fast as he tries to process the situation. He goes over and places a hand on the actor’s shoulder. “Hey, you feeling alright?”

At this point Richie has come up behind him. “Is something up?” he says, looking between Eddie and the slumped over actor-Eddie thinks it’s Ian.

“I don’t know,” he says. Ian hasn’t responded. “Can you understand me?”

Ian woozily sits up. “I’m fine,” he slurs. “Don’ worry.” He reaches out for his bottle but instead spills it all over the bar. He just looks at it for a second. Then he leans over the side of his stool and pukes on the ground. 

Eddie jumps back, even though he’s distant from the splash zone. “What the fuck,” he hears one of the other actors say. Ian’s swaying on the bar stool, so Eddie props him up by the chest. “Can we get some water?” Eddie yells out to the bartender. “And we’re going to need a bucket. And a mop.”

“We should get him some air,” says Richie. He’s much closer than Eddie realized.

“How much did he have to drink?” Eddie says, turning to the other two actors. 

“Like, kind of a lot?” one says. “We did some shots so it gets fuzzy.”

The bartender returns with a bucket and a glass of water, giving Ian a disgusted look. 

“Let’s get you some air,” says Richie, going towards Ian and pulling him out of his stool. Ian stumbles a little bit but Richie keeps a good grip on him, swinging one of Ian’s arms around his shoulders, keeping an arm around his waist. Eddie grabs the glass of water and the bucket and follows. “We’re gonna settle up, then we’ll be right out,” one of the actors calls out to him, but Eddie barely pays attention.

When Eddie gets outside Richie has set Ian on a bench outside the bar. Eddie kneels next to him, placing the bucket in his hands.

“Hey,” he says gently. “Did you take anything else? Are you on something else we should know about?”

“Jus’ started new meds,” Ian says. “Shoulda been fine.” Eddie gives him a sip of water.

“What are you on?” Eddie asks.

“Lorrzapra,” says Ian.

Eddie interprets this as Lorazepam. “Okay, that’s generally dangerous to mix with alcohol.” He glances at Richie. “He should go to the hospital.”

The two other actors come out of the bar. “How’s he doing?” Johnathan asks. Ian puts his face into the bucket and pukes out the water he just put down.

“Giving _The Exorcist_ a run for its money,” Richie says. 

The two others glance at each other. “We’ll, we’re uh, we’re gonna take off,” Atticus says. “It seems like you guys have got it under control.”

“Fine,” Eddie says. He’s too distracted to be annoyed; he’s trying to get Ian to get down more water, even though he knows he’ll just throw it up.

Eddie used to have a huge problem with vomit. With all bodily fluids, really. He dreaded getting the flu or food poisoning as a kid. It just felt so disgusting to have something that was supposed to be on your inside come to your outside, feeling it involuntarily push its way out of a body that was rejecting it. 

When he’d visited Riley in the city his junior year of college they went out to a party. It hadn’t been particularly memorable for Eddie but Riley had gotten really drunk. He’d taken her back to her apartment and gotten her into bed before falling down onto her couch.

Before he could get to sleep he heard the sound of retching coming from the bathroom. He tossed off the blanket and went to go investigate. Riley had stumbled out of her bedroom and was kneeling against the toilet, the seat pressed against her face. She was trying to hold her own matted, sweaty hair back with one hand. She shifted slightly when she heard Eddie come in. “Don’t look at me,” she moaned. 

Eddie was freaking out, feeling all of his anxiety bubble to the surface of his skin. Maybe Riley had alcohol poisoning, maybe if he left her alone she would choke on her own vomit. Even though he knew drunkenness wasn’t contagious he still had an inherent disgust at any type of sickness.

“Fuck, do you need me to call 911?” he asked, hovering. 

“Been down this road before,” she said. “Just need to get it out of my system. Go to sleep.” She laid her cheek back down on the toilet. 

"You look really fucking sick, what if you're having some kind of reaction?"

"Don't wanna talk," she said. "Trust me." She looked absolutely miserable, her face flushed and her eyes a little unfocused.

For a moment he didn't trust her, thought about swooping in and taking her somewhere they could take care of her and make her better. But then he remembered his mother, fussing him over and ignoring him when he said he was fine. Riley hadn't drank enough to die from alcohol poisoning, or passed out. She was just drunk. He looked down at her miserably crouched over the toilet. Riley had stayed on the phone with him while he had panic attacks in college about whether or not anyone would love him like his mom had. She’d helped him get paint out of his hair in high school tech, practiced tying a clove hitch with him over and over until he got it right. 

Eddie knelt beside her. Without looking into the bowl, he gently reached back and gathered her hair back into his hand. "You're so fucking sweaty," he said. Riley leaned forward into the toilet once more and he tried not to tug on the shoulder length strands. She puked again, emptying the limited contents of her stomach. She pulled herself up again, wiping at her mouth.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said to Eddie. 

“I know,” he said, and smoothed a piece of hair away from her forehead.

Eddie glances at Richie, who’s sitting next to Ian on the bench, arm still around him. “We should call an ambulance,” Eddie says.

Ian groans. “No amb’lance,” he says. “Can’t afford it.”

“Oh, I’ve been there, buddy,” Richie says. “Good thing being uninsured isn’t a crime.” This doesn’t seem like the time to correct him on that. 

Ian leans his head into the bucket and pukes some more.

“We have to do something,” Eddie says.

“Okay, I’ll call a lyft,” says Richie wrangling his phone from his pocket. He begins to tap away, then frowns. “Where’s the nearest hospital?”

“Mount Sinai,” Eddie says. Richie punches it into his phone. “Okay, three minutes,” he says. “Just gotta make it three minutes.” He peers into the bowl. “Woah, you have a burrito bowl for lunch or something?”

“This is already gross enough, do you have to make it worse?” Eddie says. 

“Don’t make me tamper my ability to make everything hilarious.” Eddie glares at him. “Okay, fine, I’ll keep it down. Unlike this guy!” he says, pointing at Ian. Eddie hopes his total lack of response will discourage him. 

They wait in anxious silence for the next couple of minutes. Once the lyft pulls up, Richie hoists Ian to his feet. “Just a little bit,” he says. Eddie goes to prop up his side, and together they get him to the lyft.

The drive spies the bucket. “No way,” he says. “That’s not coming in my car.”

“Fine, we’ll make him sit by the window, he can puke out the side,” Richie says. 

“If he throws up in my car you go out on the street. Zero star rating.”

“He’ll be good, I promise,” Richie says, opening the door and sitting Ian down. He glances at Eddie. “You’re small, you should go in the middle.”

“Fuck off, I’ll do it to best support Ian if he gets sick,” Eddie says, moving around him.

“I’ll follow your orders, Dr. K,” Richie says.

Eddie slides into the back seat and Richie follows. Ian is leaning his face up against the window, cool glass pressed to his face. “Are you gonna vom?” Richie asks. 

“No,” Ian slurs.

“Sorry if I don’t trust you,” Richie says. He glances at Eddie. “You got him?”

“Don’t worry,” Eddie says, trying not to sound worried.

The cab pulls away. The driver is playing 90’s R&B music loudly. Eddie looks straight ahead, trying not to glance over at Richie.

He’s not panicking. It would just be really, really bad to have an actor die on his watch. A combination of terror at injury and a desire to be competent at his job has led him to research different remedies, cures, and procedures for whatever might go wrong. But there were just some things he wasn’t capable of dealing with, didn’t know how to control. He couldn’t fix people all the time. 

Richie keeps cracking dumb jokes all the way to the hospital, pointing out different bars he’s been to and telling stories about shared lyfts he’s taken. Eddie doesn’t engage very much, by he snorts a little when Richie uses a particularly choice word to punctuate an anecdote. It brings him out of his own spiraling thoughts about worst case scenarios and personal responsibility. 

They reach the hospital without a repeated puking incident, and Richie hops out to grab Ian. Eddie helps push him from inside the car, and between the two of them they get him out. They resume their supporting positions and walk him to the hospital doors. 

Once inside Richie sits with Ian and Eddie grabs the patient intake forms. He fills them out as best he can, before leaving Ian with Richie to wash his hands several times thoroughly in the hospital bathroom. When he comes back he insists Richie do the same. They wait with Ian for a bit; Richie managed to scrounge up a plastic bag for him in case of an emergency. But soon enough the staff are ready to take him in. Richie and Eddie help walk him to the interior hospital doors before two hospital workers get him settled into a wheelchair. Richie and Eddie linger by the door. 

“He’ll be okay,” says a nurse. “He might need to get his stomach pumped but he’ll live. We’ve reached out to his emergency contact; they said they’d be here as soon as they can. Thanks for bringing him in.”

“No problem,” Eddie says. 

The nurse nods at them, then walks back into the interior of the hospital.

Richie turns to him. “You wanna get out of here?” he says weakly.

“Fuck yes,” Eddie responds, and heads toward the door. 

Once he passes through the sliding doors he just takes a second to breathe the night air. Clogged as it is by the scents of the city it’s still better than the antiseptic smell of the hospital. He felt like his eyes were buzzing out under the fluorescent lights. 

Richie comes up next to him. They don’t say anything for a second. Then Eddie breathes out, “Fuck.”

“You fucking said it,” Richie says. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of cigarettes. He pulls one out and offers the pack to Eddie. “Want one?” he asks.

“No thanks,” Eddie says. “And you probably shouldn’t smoke directly outside a hospital.”

They move off to the side and Richie pulls his lighter out. He inhales deeply, and aims the first puff out away from Eddie’s face.

“You know what I wish we did have? Some weed,” Eddie says. “I would love to get high after that.”

“Oh Eds, don’t you know who you’re dealing with?” Richie pulls the pack back out, flips it open, and tugs out the joint he has nestled inside. “I always have a j.”

“Did you bring that to rehearsal?” Eddie asks.

“What, it’s not like there are drug sniffing dogs at Shetler. Besides, you should be grateful I’m coming through for your ass right now. C’mon, there’s gotta be a park around here somewhere,” he says, pulling out his phone and opening google maps. “Fuck yeah, there’s one on the other side of the hospital.”

They make their way around the block, Richie still smoking his cigarette. “Can’t believe those fucking guys took off,” he grumbles. 

“We couldn’t have fit them in the lyft anyway,” Eddie says. “You would’ve had to sit on someone’s lap.”

“How the fuck do you envision it so you wouldn’t be the one sitting one someone’s lap? You’re definitely the shortest out of all of us.”

They bicker the rest of the way to the park and it almost feels normal. Once inside, they find a bench, and Richie and Eddie settle down. Richie throws his cigarette butt away into the bushes and pulls out his pack once more. “Really doing a number on my lungs this evening.”

“Tonight’s the night for it,” Eddie says, stretching his legs out. Richie offers the joint to him. “The hero of the night should have the first hit.”

Eddie takes it from him. “Don’t sell yourself short,” he says. “You helped make sure Ian didn’t pass out and choke on his own vomit.”

“Yeah, I was fucking scared there,” Richie says. He pulls out his lighter, and Eddie puts the joint to his lips. Richie moves closer, tilting his head towards Eddie. Eddie feels how close their foreheads are, how he’d just have to lean his head forward to touch it to Richie’s. Richie cups his hand around the tip and flicks the lighter, and Eddie takes his first pull.

He still coughs sometimes, but gratefully not now. He hits the joint again and passes it back to Richie. Richie takes his own puff, the ember at the tip glowing in the night.

“Wouldn’t have figured you smoked,” Richie says. “You’ve got a vague anti-drug feel.”

“I’m incredibly anxious, of course I smoke.”

Richie laughs and hits the joint again. “Okay, I definitely wouldn’t have figured you’d be willing to smoke in a public park.”

“I’ve done the research,” Eddie says. “It’s just a citation; you either get a fine or a one year probationary period where you can’t get into any more trouble. Besides, cops in New York don’t give a shit about two grown men smoking, especially if they’re white, and it’s 3 am, no one is patrolling this park.”

“Who knew you were such a well informed rule breaker,” Richie says.

“Everything is a risk; sometimes all you can do is know the odds and know the consequences,” Eddie says, taking the joint from him. He puffs it once, unfortunately coughing a little this time. He gets overwhelmingly, irrationally mad at his lungs. He’s fine, don’t they know that? His asthma was fake so why does his body still do this to him?

Richie doesn’t say anything about it, blessedly. Eddie hits the joint again in the silence.

“I fucking hate hospitals,” Eddie says suddenly. “I think my hell would be spent in a hospital bed.”

“Yeah?” Richie says. 

“As a kid I was . . . I was sick a lot. Or at least I thought I was sick a lot. My mom would take me to the hospital when anything was wrong with me. A temperature over ninety nine, a cut that looked like it could get infected. I spent a lot of time in and out of the ER growing up. In the waiting room while my mom filled out the patient intake forms and screamed at the nurses about why we weren’t getting faster treatment. In the doctor’s office while my mom listed off all my symptoms and the doctor would look in my ear and down my throat. I hated the way the air felt the most; too cold from all the air conditioners going, like they were already preparing you for the morgue.”

He realizes he’s been holding onto the joint for too long, so he hits it and passes it back to Richie. 

“Did you get better?” Richie asks. “I mean, from being sick all the time?” He holds the joint like it’s a cigarette, tucked between his ring and middle fingers. 

Eddie looks up at the overlapping tree leaves covering the view of the sky. “There was nothing I had to get better from,” he says.

Richie brings the joint to his lips and pulls on it. “I broke my ankle when I was a kid,” he says. He glances at Eddie, who’s just staring at him, waiting for him to continue. “I was a really manic child,” he says. “Like, I would lick frogs, and see how far I could walk on my hands with my eyes shut. Just dumb shit, all the time. When I was thirteen I convinced these kids I was hanging with to check out this abandoned arcade. I thought it would be an adventure, we could dust off the old games and play, just run around and graffiti the place. So we got in and it was fun, we were just fucking around. None of the games worked obviously, but it was still kinda cool and creepy. I was climbing on one of the consoles, trying to jump from one to the other. I didn’t make it, and I fell and broke my ankle.”

Eddie winces. He takes one more hit off the joint and hands it back to Richie. He thinks he’s done getting high for now. 

“All the other kids freaked out because we weren’t supposed to be there and they didn’t want to get caught. So they all ran off and told me not to tell my mom they were there too. It was a couple of years before I got my first cellphone so I had to walk my bike back home, doing this weird half straddling thing over it because I couldn’t peddle. When I got home my mom freaked out and drove me to the hospital to get it fixed. We had to wait forever in the waiting room, and I kept trying to get her to set it for me because I was convinced if she did something it would stop hurting so much. I really fucking didn’t want to cry but I did, right in front of everyone else waiting to get stitched up, and they all pretended not to look at me. So I hate hospitals too.”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment. “I hope those kids fall off a cliff and break every fucking bone in their body. I’d throw them off myself if I ever ran into them,” he says eventually.

“My big strong hero,” Richie says. He offers the joint back to Eddie, who declines.

“I never told my parents what really happened; I just said I hit the curb wrong on my bike and went tumbling. I didn’t want them to know I was doing something so stupid. I knew they’d be mad, would probably yell at me. Just easier to avoid that. They’re good parents, though,” Richie goes on, taking another hit. “They were totally fine when I came out in high school. My dad still doesn’t understand bisexuality; he’s stuck in the ‘why can’t you just pick one’ mindset. But at least he doesn’t hate me.”

“I never came out to my mom,” Eddie says. “Things between us were already so bad by the time I figured it out, I just didn’t need to have that conversation. I knew she wasn’t going to be supportive so why put myself through all that? It’s not like she was in my life at all at that point.”

“Is your mom, you know?” Richie mimes slitting a throat, then does a little hangman’s noose. 

“My mom’s alive, just a bitch,” Eddie says, then frowns. “Fuck, at least I think she’s alive. Yeah, someone would have told me if she died.”

“So you could still call her up. Just yell ‘This is your son and I suck dick!’ and hang up the phone.” Richie mimes slamming down a receiver. Eddie laughs. “The only downside to that was that I wouldn’t be able to see the look on her face.” Richie shifts next to him, stretching his legs out, tossing the end of the joint away. 

Getting high did help. Eddie can look back at the events of the evening from a distance. The adrenaline has ebbed away and now he just feels mentally exhausted. 

“Did we do the right thing?” he says. Richie glances at him. “I mean, should we have stayed with him? Should we have waited until his emergency contact showed up?”

“I think he was pretty out of it, and I don’t know how I’d feel about two mostly strangers hovering over my hospital bed while I’m retching my guts out. His mother or boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever will get there and hold his hand and take him home. We did our part getting him there.”

“Just feel like I could have done more,” Eddie says. “I should have been paying better attention, should’ve noticed he was getting sick.”

“You can’t put this one on yourself,” Richie says. “I mean, didn’t you see you in there? You think everybody can handle a crisis like that? Fuck no.”

“Someone needed to do something,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, but you did it, that’s the difference,” Richie says. “I mean, you knew what interactions his meds would have, and where the nearest hospital was. I would have been fucking terrified trying to help him on my own.”

“I didn’t do it alone though, I had you,” Eddie says. “And you were great too. You kept me distracted; I would've been crazy stressed on my own. You didn’t have to stay.”

“I wouldn’t have left you,” Richie says. He’s still just looking at Eddie. It’s hard to see his face in the dark, but Eddie can still make out the lines of his cheekbones. 

Even high Eddie knows that he’s in the danger zone right now. He wants to lean into Richie’s side, have the other man slide his arm around his shoulder. He wants to nestle his head under his chin and let the tension of the night bleed from him into Richie’s warmth. 

But he can’t. So instead he pushes himself off the bench. “We should both get home,” he says. “Thank god the trains run twenty four hours.”

Richie doesn’t move. He sits, leaning back on the bench, just looking up at Eddie. Then he shakes himself, like he’s trying to wake himself up from nodding off, and stands up too. “I’ll walk you to your train,” he says.

He and Eddie make their way out of the park. There are still cars on the street because there are always cars on the street. “Are you going to let Mike know this happened?”’ Richie asks on the way.

“I think I should, not the least because I bet Johnathan and Atticus are going to talk about it. It would be best to not hear it in a gossipy way. I’ll tell him I want to chat tomorrow.”

They’re both quiet for most of the walk. When they get to the station Eddie stands at the top of the stairs. He looks up at Richie. “Thank you,” he says. “That was terrible but I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been there.” 

Richie’s still looking down at him. Then, before Eddie has time to react, he leans down and presses his lips to Eddie’s.

It feels almost like a feather, like he could have imagined it. Just the brightest gentle brush of warm pressure, the slight bump of Richie’s nose against his. Richie pulls away before he has time to move. 

“Goodnight, Eddie,” he says, and turns around to walk off into the darkness.

Eddie just stands there. He doesn’t know how to react, how to put his limbs into motion. Instead he just watches Richie walk away from him. He doesn’t move until he can’t see him anymore. When he's out of sight he brings his fingers to his mouth and holds them against his lips. 

Then he turns and goes down the subway steps.

It’s sixteen minutes until the next train. Eddie wishes he gave himself the luxury of taking lyfts home on the nights he was out this late, but he tried not to for the principle of the thing. 

He felt tired five minutes ago but he’s buzzing with adrenaline again, the weed mixing with the sudden rush to his system until he doesn’t know where his head is at. 

Richie kissed him. Richie had actualized whatever tension there was between them, made tangible into the world the destination they were hurtling towards. He’d said something but Eddie just didn’t know what. For the first time what’s happening between them feels delicate. Before, it was a push and pull, almost a routine. There was an element of it being a bit. This wasn’t a bit. Richie wasn’t supposed to gently kiss him after spending a harrowing night together making sure someone didn’t die. 

Eddie pulls out his phone. Richie’s bar playlist is too raucous for him right now, so instead he puts on ‘Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme,’ and waits for the train to come.

He doesn’t text anyone about what happened. It feels too precious to speak out loud, to lay bare what he's not even fully conscious of yet.

He doesn’t know why he told Richie about his childhood. It was partially because he was rattled from the hospital, but he tries to talk about his mom as little as possible. Riley knows most of the details, even though she’d never actually met his mom. Bill and Stan know that there’s something wrong in his relationship with her but he’d never shared deeply.

When the train comes he collapses onto the blue benches. He dozes off for part of the ride home, jerking to alertness a couple of stops away from his. When he gets back to his apartment he falls into bed, barely managing to plug in his phone. He doesn’t set an alarm for the next day; it’s around 4 am and he wants to let his body sleep in. 

Richie hasn’t texted him. Not like he expected him to.

Eddie falls asleep replaying the feel of Richie’s lips against his over and over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can confirm from personal experience that 1, NY cops don't care about weed, and 2, it's not even that big a deal if you get caught.
> 
> Shetler is by far the worst rehearsal studio in all of NY. Do not recommend. 
> 
> I google mapsed Mount Sinai Hospital and there is a park right next to it, even though it seems too convenient. 
> 
> Come talk to me on twitter [@beepbeepbxtch](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) and tumblr at [toziertool](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/)!


	6. in the eyes of the stars i'm burning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Tozier-March-Hanscom household throws a party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, the rating goes distinctly up (nsfw up) in this chapter. Message me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) or [tumblr](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/) if you want to know where to cut.

When Eddie rouses himself from bed on Saturday he texts Mike that he wants to talk, and to call him whenever. His phone goes off a couple of hours later. He fills in Mike on what went down with Ian, omitting his and Richie’s post hospital walk and smoke. Mike takes it in stride, thanking Eddie for taking care of things. Eddie tells Mike he’ll check in on Ian later that weekend. He does, giving him a call on Sunday. Ian seems more embarrassed by the whole thing than anything else. Eddie assures him this won’t affect his position in the show, and vows internally to just never talk about it again. Sometimes the best thing to do with an unpleasant event was just to pretend it never happened.

He’s not pretending the kiss with Richie never happened. He's letting it simmer, because he doesn’t know what the fuck to do next.

Richie doesn’t reach out to him and he doesn’t reach out to Richie all weekend. Eddie has rehearsal on Sunday but Richie isn’t called. But for the rest of the week when they’re in the room together there’s something different in the air. Richie doesn't joke with him or tease him as much but Eddie can still tell he’s paying attention to him, still looking at him. Eddie feels himself drawn to him, angling his body towards Richie without meaning to, having to work to watch the other actors’ movements because all he sees is Richie. Walking to the train every night, he feels the tension from rehearsal continue to fill him up until he’s sitting on the benches, jittering his leg up and down, counting down the stops till he gets home and can think about something else.

They don’t talk about the kiss.

He hadn’t told any of his friends about it yet. He doesn’t know what it means, and he fears making it concrete in the world would send him into a spiral. He knew both Riley and Stan would discourage him from hooking up with an actor. Bill and Audra would approve, but he just didn’t want to share it with them yet. It feels like his secret, his thing to hold close to his chest. 

There are moments when his and Richie’s eyes meet in the middle of rehearsal and they look at each other just a little too long. Richie will be acting in the taped out set, and Eddie will be taking his blocking notes. He’ll glance up to mark something down and Richie will just be staring at him and he finds himself unable to look away. Then Mike will call out a direction or one of the other actors will get Richie’s attention and their gazes will break. Eddie doesn’t know how the other members of the show don’t notice what he feels is stretching between them constantly.

Richie lingers after rehearsal on Thursday night while Mike and Eddie are chatting. “Hey,” he says, directing his attention on Mike in a way that makes Eddie feel like his attention is still somehow on him. “My roommates are having a party tomorrow night and they graciously said I could invite some of my friends. So I was wondering if you wanted to come. If both of you wanted to come,” he says, looking at Eddie for the first time. 

Eddie doesn’t know how to make his mouth work correctly at this moment. Luckily, Mike steps in. “I’m there,” he says. “Would be great to meet the roommates I’ve been hearing about for so long.”

Richie looks away from Eddie. “They’d be honored if you graced us with your presence.”

“I already have an in with them, I can introduce you,” Eddie says. “They like me more than they like Richie anyway.”

“So you’re coming?” Richie says. 

“Yeah, why not?” Eddie says. He doesn’t want to think about the fact that this is the third Friday night in a room he’ll be spending with Richie, that Richie has come to dominate his limited social life. 

Richie just nods at him. They all walk down the hallways to the elevator together. Richie's hand brushes against Eddie’s for the briefest second when they go through the doors and Eddie tries not to shiver. 

They say their goodbyes at the door, Mike and Richie walking to the train together. Eddie wonders what would have happened if they’d been alone, no Mike as a buffer. 

When he gets home Audra’s looking over her script for the show she’s doing and Bill is reading a horror novel. They greet him briefly before turning back to their own pursuits. Eddie pulls out his computer and sits with Audra at their little table. He’s midway through typing up his rehearsal report when he mentions very casually. “Richie invited me to a party tomorrow night. His roommate’s are throwing one at his place.”

Bill looks up from his book and Audra looks up from her lines. “Are you going to go?” Bill asks.

“No good reason not to,” Eddie says.

“Many good reasons to go,” Audra adds. 

“I’m not going to hook up with him,” Eddie responds. “We’ve talked about how unprofessional that would be.”

“If you say unprofessional one more fucking time,” Bill says

Ignoring him, Audra continues. “I think you’re going to. That self control of yours is just going to snap, and you’re not going to be able to stop yourself, and you’re gonna throw yourself at him. So, if you’re serious about not sleeping with him, there’s only one way to not do it. You need an extraction team.” She looks at Bill meaningfully. It takes him a second, then his eyes widen.

“She’s right,” Bill says. “We’re going to need to come along with you to protect you from yourself.”

Eddie just stares at them. “You two would be the worst at this,” he says. “You guys want me to hook up with him.”

“We can put that aside, for your good,” Audra says.

Eddie looks between the two of them suspiciously. “You just want to meet him and are pretending you’d stop me.”

Bill looks sheepish, Audra does not. “I know Bill wants to meet him, I just want to go to a party,” she says. “We can bring Stan; he thinks its a bad idea for you to hook up with Richie, so he’ll actually be effective.”

“Then why don't I bring just Stan?” Eddie says. 

“Because it would be weird for you to show up to the house of the guy you have a crush on with another guy,” says Bill. “No, you need a whole group.”

Eddie just looks at him. “This is insanity,” he says.

“Just text him and ask,” Bill says. “Tell him that your roommate is lame and desperately needs something to do on a Friday night.”

“The only reason to not bring us is if you want to hook up with him at this event,” Audra says.

Eddie fumes at both of them but he pulls out his phone. 

**Hey, am I allowed to bring guests to the party?**

Richie responds fairly quickly.

_depends_

_what kind of guests_

**My roommate and his girlfriend. And maybe my roommate’s best friend. They’re all bored and haven’t been to a party in a while.**

_in that case the more the merrier. bev and ben are tryna throw the function of the century_

**Don’t make regret attending.**

_you’re not going to regret it. ill make sure of that_

Eddie feels his stomach swoop. He wishes Richie had inserted some kind of obviously flirtatious remark, a winky face, anything to make things less real. But things were real, and it’s seeming more and more futile to ignore that.

\---

Friday can’t go by fast enough. He gets home after work, and waits for Bill to finish his tutoring sessions. When Bill arrives they order Thai food and wait for Audra and Stan to come over. Audra shows up around eight with her eyeliner done in neat cat eyes and a swingy floral dress. 

“You look pretty,” Bill says, greeting her with a kiss at the door. "As usual," he adds hurriedly.

“Who knows who’s going to be at this party?” she says. “Everything is a networking opportunity.” She looks over them both. “Is that what you two are wearing?”

“We haven’t gotten dressed yet,” Eddie says defensively. 

“Well, hurry up, Stan’s supposed to be here soon,” Audra says, plopping onto the couch. “And you know Stan likes to be punctual.”

Eddie and Bill head back to their separate rooms to get dressed. Stan buzzes the apartment when he’s outside. Eddie makes one last attempt to smooth his hair down and then goes to let him in. Stan’s dressed in a cardigan, wearing nice nice shoes. “It’s a party,” he says in response to Eddie’s look. “It’s good to look presentable.”

“Should we bring booze?” Bill asks, emerging from his bedroom. 

“Yes, to make sure we have something to drink,” says Audra. “Never a good idea to assume there’ll be enough to go around.”

On to the way to the train they grab a fifth of rum; it's the closest to an alcohol they can all agree on. Stan prefers not to drink hard liquor; like Eddie, he likes white wine. They catch the first of the two trains they'll need to take.

“I can’t believe you made this journey without admitting that you were into him,” Bill says.

“Twice,” Audra adds.

“You’re all making this journey with me this time and none of you are into him.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Stan deadpans. “From everything you’ve said about him he sounds exactly like my type. Maybe I’m just coming along to sweep him out from underneath your nose.”

“You wouldn’t do that to Patty,” Bill says. 

“Maybe Patty wants in on it,” Audra pipes in. “You don’t know what goes on in that bedroom.”

“And you never will,” Stan responds.

They switch trains downtown, hustling to catch the L. Eddie doesn’t want to be late, even though being late just means deviating from the fashionably late time they’d already chosen on arriving at, because he’s also terrified of being early. 

They hop off the train and make their way to Richie’s apartment. “You have to be cool, you guys,” Eddie says on the way. “Like, don’t make it seem like I like him, or even that you know anything about him.”

“Do you think we’re children?” Stan says. 

“I trust you,” Eddie says. “You,” he says, pointing at Bill, “I don’t trust. You have a terrible poker face.”

“I’ll keep him in check, don’t worry,” Audra says. “We’re here to support you, not sabotage you.”

“I don’t believe you,” Eddie says.

They reach Richie’s apartment and Eddie hits the buzzer. The door unlocks and they head upstairs.

Eddie can hear the music from a floor away. Conversation and laughter pass through the closed door to the landing. Eddie looks at the rest of the group. “We ready for this?” he says.

“Fuck yeah,” Bill responds.

Eddie knocks on the door, hopping it can be heard over the din of the party. When he doesn't get a response he knocks harder. “I’ll get it!” he hears someone yell from the inside, and the door swings open. Beverly’s standing in the doorway, cheeks flushed, beer clutched in her hand. “Eddie!” she says excitedly. She turns and yells back into the apartment, “Richie! Eddie’s here!”

There’s no response, and Beverly turns back around with a sigh. “He’s around somewhere. He’ll be very excited you’ve arrived.” She looks behind him for the first time. “You brought a whole posse,” she remarks. 

“Uh, yeah,” he says. “I hope that’s okay, I cleared it with Richie.”

She snorts. “I don’t give a shit,” she says. She opens the door wider and steps out of the way. “Come in.”

They all crowd in from the hallway. The apartment is fairly full, people spilling from the dim living room into the brightness of the kitchen. They’ve pushed the couch and love seat back against the wall; Eddie doesn’t know where the table has disappeared to. There are people perched on the fire escape smoking, and a line leading from the bathroom. 

Bev looks at him expectantly. “Who've you brought us?” she says.

“Beverly, this is my roommate Bill, his girlfriend Audra, and our friend Stan. Guys, this is Beverly, Richie’s roommate.”

“Great to meet you, Beverly,” says Bill. 

She grins at him. “Likewise. As a very pro-Eddie Kaspbrak household we’re happy to have any friends of his. Now,” she says, linking her arm through Eddie’s. “Let’s get you a drink.” He looks back helplessly at his friends as he gets pulled deeper into the room. 

They go towards the kitchen, pushing past crowds of people. Everyone seems to be loose and mingling, laughter ringing out from little pockets of people. Eddie scans the room for Richie. 

Once inside the kitchen, Bev pulls out a plastic cup. “What’ll you take?” she asks him.

“Just water, thanks,” Eddie responds. He’d seen enough of the consequences of drinking last weekend, even if he wasn’t mixing it with any medication. Besides, he wants to be clear headed at this party. 

She goes to the fridge and pulls out a pitcher. Eddie is grateful they have filtered water; he hates New York tap water. She pours him a glass and rummages around the fridge for another beer. She chugs the last bit of her open one before popping the top on the new one. 

“So what was the impetus behind this party?” he asks.

She shrugs. “I don’t know, ask Richie.”

He looks at her in confusion. “What?” 

“This is his party,” she responds. “Like, half the people here are his friends, another third are mine which is honestly a lot of his friends too, and the rest are Ben’s.”

“Why's Richie throwing a party?” he asks. 

“Richie likes to do impulsive shit,” she says. “Now c’mon, lets find him.” She grabs Eddie’s hand and drags him back into the living room.

The party is full of twenty somethings who are all varying stages of hip. There’s music playing in the background; Eddie thinks LCD Soundsystem but can’t be sure over the chatter and laughter coming from the mingled guests. Eddie picks out some wildly dressed people he assumes are Bev’s fashion school friends. He spots Audra chatting with another actor she knows, and gives her a little wave as he passes by.

Bev spots Richie and veers over to him. He’s holding court in a circle of attentive listeners. “I had him like ninety percent convinced that I could get a golf ball to fall faster than a bowling ball. So obviously the next thing to do was acquire a bowling ball.”

“Richie,” Bev yells out. “Guess who’s here.”

Richie looks over and spots Eddie. “Gotta go, don’t wait up,” he says to everyone around him, and cuts straight through the middle of the circle. 

Richie looks infuriatingly good. He’s got ripped up jeans (being attracted to knees is a new sensation for Eddie) and a black striped button up that’s not as loud as what he usually wears. 

“Spaghetti has landed,” he says, stopping in front of him. 

“I decided to make an appearance,” Eddie says. He glances around the apartment. “This is packed. I think if someone asked me to throw a party I could rustle together like six people. Where did everyone come from?”

“People who me or Bev went to school with, people I’ve done shows with. Some people from Ben’s firm, some people I’ve met working at different bars. It’s a whole mix.”

Eddie doesn’t think now’s a good time to ask why Richie lied about throwing this party. 

“Those two,” Richie says, pointing. “Those two I don’t know. Are they your’s?”

Eddie looks over at where Richie is gesturing. He sees Bill and Stan lurking near a wall. They look like they’re having a medium time. Stan isn’t particularly extroverted and even though Bill is he’s usually more interested in making sure Stan isn’t miserable. 

“Yeah, those are my friends,” Eddie says.

“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Richie says. Before Eddie can respond Richie starts walking over to Bill and Stan. Eddie hurriedly follows. He intercepts Richie before he can get to Bill and Stan first.

“Guys,” he calls out. They look over, and both of them glance over at Richie; Stan subtly, Bill less so. “This is Richie, we’re at his party.” He gives them both meaningful looks, trying to signal ‘don’t tell him you already know who he is, you idiots.’ Luckily, they’re both tuned in enough with his feelings to know not to let anything slip. Eddie says, moving out of the way. “Richie, this is my roommate Bill and our friend Stanley.”

Richie reaches out and enthusiastically pumps Bill’s hand. “Why, aren’t we just chuckled and chortled to have you here at our fine establishment,” he says in British accent. 

Stan looks over at Eddie. “Is he doing a bit?” he asks. 

“Almost always,” Eddie responds. 

Richie turns to Stan. “It’s truly an honor to have so many acquaintances of dear old Eds gathered in one space.”

“Don’t use the nicknames in front of my friends. If anyone else starts calling me Eds I’ll wreck you.”

“No one else would dare; that one’s just for me.” Before Eddie can respond, Richie’s turned back to Stan and Bill. “Can I get you two fine gentlemen a delicious beverage?” he says.

“I’d like to be drinking,” Bills says. He holds up the bottle of rum. “We brought this but we’re also free loaders.”

“No need to BYOB; I’m here to provide.”

“I’ll see what you have first before I commit to anything,” Stan tells him.

“A man of taste,” Richie responds. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we can find something to accommodate any particularities. Onwards, gentlemen!” he says, making a large pointing gesture.

Eddie follows them back to the kitchen. Richie’s chatting happily to Stan, arm slung around his shoulder. Stan’s regarding him with a mix of confusion, disdain, and amusement. Bill leans and whispers into Eddie’s ear, “He seems attentive to you.” Eddie glares.

When they catch up to Richie and Stan, Richie is displaying all of the alcohol he has. Stan is examining a bottle of Evan Williams and wrinkling his nose. “Do you have any wine?” he asks.

“Yeah, got a bottle of white for Spaghetti here,” Richie says, heading towards the fridge. He glances at Eddie. “You want some too?”

“No thanks,” Eddie says. He glances at Richie. He doesn’t seem to have a glass either. Richie notices Eddie’s look. “Not drinking tonight,” he says. “Someone's gotta make sure these hooligans don’t get out of hand.”

He doesn’t look away from Eddie. Before he has to think of a response Bill interjects, “What type of mixers do you have?”

“This is a bartender’s party, Billy Boy,” Richie says. “We’re tricked out over here.”

“Whiskey ginger?” Bill says.

Richie groans. “So boring,” he says, grabbing a bottle of ginger ale from the fridge. “Can I at least add a little bit of lime?”

“Do you have fresh limes?” Eddie asks.

“This is a classy joint,” he says, grabbing a lime. “Jay Gatsby would weep with shame over how elegant this party is. Of course I have fresh limes.” He digs around the crisper drawer for a lime and emerges with one clutched in his hand. He lays down his ingredients on the counter and sets to mixing up drinks. Even though he’s got his usual chaotic energy he moves with purpose, carefully pouring out Stan’s wine and taking his time while slicing Bill’s lime wedge. He hands them both over. 

“Welcome to Bushwick, uptown girls,” he says. 

They both take their sips. Stan makes a pleased little sound, and looks over at Richie. “This is good,” he says. “What is this?”

“It’s a Sancerre,” Richie says. “I’m trying to gauge Eddie’s alcohol taste so I wanted to try something dry.”

“Stan’s a bit of a wine snob,” Bill says. “Well, a multi-purpose snob really.” Stan sniffs at him.

“I had a very brief stint at a wine bar,” Richie says. “Picked some stuff up.”

“Yeah, Eddie said you were a bartender,” Bill says. Eddie steps on his foot. Bill ignores him and continues. “I did the server thing for a bit before my stories started getting picked up, was always jealous that the bartenders made more money.”

“It’s just because you can con drunks into tipping more. This one time, I had this guy, showed up to the bar already like three shots in, you know?” Richie launches into a story about how this man started tipping exponentially larger the more Eagles’ music Richie played. They all chat in the kitchen for a while, all of them swapping anecdotes about the shitty jobs they worked when they first moved to the city. At some point, Richie gets pulled away to greet some guests, and a little later Bill disappears to find Audra. Stan and Eddie are left alone in the kitchen. Stan leans up against the counter. His cheeks are a little flushed.

“He’s funny,” Stan says grudgingly. “He’s an idiot but he’s funny.” Stan looks at Eddie appraisingly. “Maybe I won’t stop you.”

“Stan, you weren't supposed to get drunk and lose all reason,” Eddie says. “Thought I could count on you.”

“Have you ever thought I want to live vicariously through your mistakes? Since I’m never going to make any of my own.”

“Insufferable,” Eddie says to him. “Someday I’m going to convince you to get an impulse tattoo and you'll regret this moment.”

Stan pours himself more wine. “I’m going to find Bill and Audra,” he says. “I’m sure Richie is around here somewhere.” He heads back into the living room, leaving Eddie alone.

Eddie scans the room. People seem to be in a loose haze of drunkenness, talking louder over the music. He spots Richie and makes his way over to him. 

Richie’s talking to Ben. “Hi Ben,” Eddie says, still holding his cup of water. “Enjoying your party?”

“It’s Richie’s party,” Ben says. Richie coughs loudly. “It’s all of our parties,” he says. “True joint effort.”

“Richie’s the real social butterfly,” Ben says. “Even though I’m from here he knows way more people.”

“Quantity doesn’t determine quality, my dear boy,“ Richie says. “I don’t have any solid friends other than you and Bev. Just people to hang out with, have fun with.”

“Lots of people seem to like hanging out with you,” says Eddie, looking over the room. He tries not to think about how many people here Richie might have hooked up with.

“I’m a likeable guy,” Richie says. “You like me, don’t you?”

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond. Luckily, before he can say anything, Ben says, “I’m going to find Bev,” Ben says. He claps Richie on the shoulder and heads back into the living room. Richie leans up against the wall. 

“So, it’s your party,” Eddie says. “Any occasion I don’t know about?”

Richie shrugs. “Can’t a man just want to gather fifty of his closest friends in one space? We should all be throwing parties without reason. Bev and I used to do it all the time in college.”

“How did you and Bev meet?” Eddie asks. 

“She came to a Julliard party with some guy she was dating at the time. It was one of those really pretentious events where three quarters of the people are wearing all black and everyone is talking about critical dramatic theory. She and I were the only two people who wanted to play beer bong. She and the guy she was with got into a fight about how she couldn’t be classy for this douchey party, so we took off and found a bar and got blitzed there instead. We just kept hanging out after that; she’s one of the realest people in this whole fucking city.” 

“And Ben?” Richie asks. 

“Oh, Benny Boy’s been in love with Bev for years. They both grew up here, they met when they were kids, and then Ben’s family moved away. He never stopped carrying a torch, so when he moved to the city after he got a job here he looked her up. And then they fell in love and it was disgusting and I have to constantly be around their resplendent joy. I’m so fucking happy for them,” he says fondly. 

“I’m surrounded by people in couples,” Eddie says. “I have like five friends in the city and all of them are in relationships. Two of them are in relationships with each other. It’s exhausting to be around.”

“Not for you?” Richie says, looking down at him.

Eddie’s face heats up just a little. “Not really,” he says. “I mean, there’s people I’ve gone out with, but nothing serious. No one I’ve felt like I’ve really clicked with, you know?” he says. 

“I honestly just haven’t had time to date,” Richie says. “Between working and auditions and hanging out with Bev and Ben, it just seemed like something that could fall to the wayside.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. He feels funny talking about this. He knows Richie gets laid, even if he’s not interested in anything more than that with people. But he doesn’t want to think about Richie and dating and whether or not he’ll ever do it because there’s no way he’ll be okay with any conclusions he comes to. 

“Just waiting for somebody extraordinary, I guess,” Richie continues. He’s looking down at Eddie. Eddie panics.

“We should get some air,” he blurts out. “It’s really hot in here.”

Richie takes a moment before he says “Sure, I could use a cig. Follow me,” he says, heading to the fire escape. Richie pushes open the window and ducks out. There’s a couple of people already sitting up there, but Richie clambers up the ladder that leads to the roof. He sits down on the slate and swings his legs over the edge. Eddie joins him slightly more cautiously. Richie pulls a pack of Marlboro Reds out of his pocket and offers Eddie one; he shakes his head no. 

“You're not even a party smoker?” Richie says, flicking his lighter. 

“I never smoke,” Eddie says. “I tried it once, just to say I did, but I didn’t enjoy it. My dad died of lung cancer, so I was always terrified of it as a kid, and now I just think it’s kind of gross.”

“Sorry about your dad,” Richie says, inhaling. 

Eddie shrugs. “It’s fine; I never really knew him.”

“Still,” Richie says, flicking some ash from the tip of his cigarette. “And you’re right, it’s absolutely gross. What a paradox that a death stick should be so sexy.”

“You think cigarettes are sexy?” Eddie asks.

“Not cigarettes,” Richie says. “I don’t want to fuck a cigarette. People look sexy when they smoke.”

“You think you look sexy when you smoke?” Eddie says in what he hopes come off as a joking tone. He’s unfortunately not joking because he understands what Richie’s saying, seeing him hold the thin white cylinder between his two fingers, watching the way his cheeks hollow out when he breathes in. 

“Maybe,” Richie says. “I know you’d look sexy doing it.” 

He has the strongest urge to ask Richie for a drag of his cigarette just to put his lips where Richie’s have been. 

“Started smoking when I was sixteen,” Richie says before Eddie can respond. “Found a half finished camel in an ashtray at some party and hacked it all down. It was disgusting, but I liked how it felt to lean up against the side of the garage and do something without doing anything. So I got some of my older friends to start buying me packs and I never really quit. I’ve gone through phases; I stopped buying my own for a while when I moved here because it was too expensive, but then when I met Bev I just started bumming off of her all the time. So I bit the bullet and started buying packs again. There’s just no pleasure like a cigarette,” he says, exhaling. “Like, it’s the perfect punctuation for every event. An ideal social lubricant.”

“What do you mean?” Eddie says.

“You’re outside, smoking a cig, and someone asks to bum from you. And then you’re talking when you wouldn’t have been before. And then someone else wanders over and they’re smoking, and suddenly you’re all having a conversation. Before you know it, you have some new friends.”

“You like making friends more than I do,” says Eddie. “Judging by how many people are here.”

Richie shifts. “I like being around people,” he says, looking up towards the night sky.

Eddie looks over at him. Richie’s dark hair is illuminated by the moonlight, and Eddie wants to run his fingers through it. “Why did you really throw this party, Richie?” he asks.

Richie won’t make eye contact. “You’ve never hosted a whole party in the hopes that one specific person would show up?”

Eddie feels his stomach swoop. “Seems like a lot of effort to get someone’s attention.”

“Had to do something delicate. Wouldn’t want to spook him off.”

“The most delicate thing you could think of was a rager?”

“I’m not especially delicate.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. He knows what a bad idea this is, knows it’s wrong for him to get involved with an actor in his show. But Richie’s making him feel things he hasn’t felt for another person in a long time, maybe ever, in a way that’s beginning to feel less and less about just sex. Before he can say anything Bev sticks her head out the window below and bellows, “Richie, your friend Mike’s here and he wants you to make him a drink!”

Richie scrambles up. “That’s the problem with being really good at your job, your friends expect you to do it all the time for free. Let’s go say hi to Mike.” He heads down the ladder to the fire escape below and after a moment Eddie follows him. 

The party looks like it’s reached its peak inside. Bill and Audra are standing together, Bill’s arm around Audra’s waist. He even spots Stan talking with someone, an intense look on his face as he nods in agreement with whatever the man who he’s speaking to is saying. 

Richie’s talking to Mike, and Eddie heads over to them. Mike smiles when he sees him. “Good to see you,” he says. “Wasn’t sure if you were gonna make it from all the way uptown.”

“Gotta take advantage of party invitations as they come,” Eddie says. He hopes Mike doesn’t think too deeply about what might compel Eddie to take two trains to Brooklyn. 

“Now, let me get you fixed up,” says Richie, steering Mike towards the kitchen. He glances back at Eddie. “Find you later, okay?” he says, then walks off with Mike.

Eddie just stands there for a second, surveying the scene. It’s a little dizzying to realize he’s the impetus behind this party, that Richie had held this whole thing just to give himself an excuse to spend time with Eddie. And Eddie’s glad he did it because he likes spending time with Richie outside the rehearsal space, likes being able to just talk with him and sit with him while he smokes. Eddie wants to keep being alone with Richie.

Doing his best to extract himself from these thoughts, he wanders over to the little circle Bill and Audra are in. Bill grins when he sees him. “We were just talking about those New Yorker tote bags you see everywhere. What’s your opinion?”

“Definitely a sign of pretentiousness,” Eddie says almost automatically. This is a party, he thinks. He should be mingling instead of focusing all his attention on Richie. So he loses himself in the conversation, following along as they talk about whether or not anyone actually reads the New Yorker or if it just exists so people can use the covers as wall paper.

Looking around, his eyes find Richie. He’s standing across the room, talking to some people Eddie doesn’t know. Maybe Richie feels his eyes on him, because he glances up and meets Eddie’s gaze. Eddie sees something exposed there, some question that he’s grasping for the answer of. He can’t look away. Audra snaps him out of it with a comment about the last play they both worked on together, and he turns back to the conversation.

Eddie continues to chat and mingle, running into a couple people who he’s done shows with. At one point he spots Bill and Ben across the room. When he wanders closer he hears that they’re talking about the latest George Saunders book, and he heads away from them. He sees Bev talking to Mike, gesturing animatedly about something as Mike laughs. He doesn’t see Stan, he hopes he’s doing alright. 

The party ebbs and flows, and eventually Eddie finds he needs the bathroom. Blessedly, there’s no line. When he emerges, he almost runs smack into Bill. Bill sways a little tipsily. “You didn’t tell me Richie had cool roommates,” he says. “Like, what a power couple. They’re both so beautiful.”

“You’re just saying that because Bev looks like Audra,” Eddie replies. 

“Yeah, and Audra is the hottest woman in the world, ergo Bev is hot. We’re all hot. I feel like I’m only friends with hot people, do you feel that way?” Before Eddie can reply Bill says, “I think Stan wants to get out of here; are you ready?”

“I should probably find Richie and say goodbye before I go,” Eddie says. “Give me a minute, okay?” He moves past Bill and heads back down the narrow hallway.

When he gets back inside the living room he doesn’t spot anyone he knows, including Richie. He glances outside to the fire escape, where he sees the vague outline of a person. He makes his way to the window and ducks outside. 

Richie’s sitting out there alone, smoking. Eddie slides in next to him. “Hi,” Richie says back. He’s got little goose pimples on his arms. 

“Mike went home,” Richie says. “Said he had one of those literacy events tomorrow.”

“That was fast,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, he lives close, so he just walked here and back,” Richie says. “But there’s no one else from the show here now.”

Eddie feels the constraints of the professional boundaries he set up for himself stretch. He’s at Richie’s apartment, and he can’t pretend it has anything to do with the show. He’s here because he wants to be close to Richie and, even if he wasn’t able to admit it to himself before, he came here wanting something to happen even as he knows it’s a terrible idea. 

“Things are quieting down,” he says.

Richie takes a pull. “Yeah, adults really lose the ability to be twenty four hour party people,” he says. “You hit twenty six and you get lame.”

“So, was it a successful party?” Eddie asks, looking over at Richie. Richie looks up at the clouds covering the moon and stars. 

“Don’t know yet,” he says.

Eddie lets the silence between them settle. Richie flicks the ash away from the tip of his cigarette. “Eddie,” he starts. “Do you-am I reading this right, or-”

“You’re reading this right,” Eddie says. He’s incredibly nervous, his heart hammering out of his chest. 

Richie looks back at him. His eyes are dark, and Eddie feels if he stares long enough he would find himself reflected there.

“Meet me inside my bedroom in ten minutes,” he says. “It’s the one all the way at the end of the hallway.” He reaches out and lightly runs his thumb over Eddie’s lips. Then he stubs out his cigarette, scoots back, and climbs in through the window.

Eddie sits there for a second. He’s glad his head is clear of alcohol. He wants to be able to make this choice reasonably. Rationally, he knows what he should do. He should leave right now, walk out the door and text Richie some excuse and then they can pretend like this never happened. 

But he’s sick of wanting and never getting what he wants. He denies himself fun, he denies himself any room to be less than exemplary at his job. He wants to do something for himself, and he wants Richie so goddamn badly.

He goes back inside the window, looking through the living room for someone he came with. He spies Stan in the kitchen, and goes over to him. Stan’s got his sweater tied around his waist, and his curls look a little wilder than usual. “Good party,” he says to Eddie. “You know I don’t usually like parties on principle, but this was decent.”

“I’ve never seen you enjoy a party that didn’t end at nine. Did somebody spike your cup?” he asks suspiciously.

“No, but Richie made me this rum drink that must’ve been half alcohol but just tasted like pineapples. However,” Stan says. “This party has run its course for me. I have a beautiful wife who, while probably not literally waiting up for me, is metaphorically waiting for me to return. Are you ready to go?”

“I think I’m, uh, gonna stay for a little bit longer,” Eddie says. “You shouldn’t wait for me though, you should grab the train.”

Stan looks at him evaluatingly. “You’re not coming back home tonight, are you?” Stan says. 

“I just . . . I feel like I shouldn’t leave yet,” he mumbles. “And I don’t want to hear anything you have to say about it.”

“I was never going to stop you,” Stan says. “Honestly, it’s nice to see you interested in someone again. Hope he’s worth it.”

“Me too,” Eddie says. 

“Let’s find Bill and Audra,” Stan says. “I bet they want to get out of here.”

They find the couple among the dwindling crowd. Things do seem to be winding down, people calling out farewells as they head out the door. Audra has a high flush in her cheeks, and is animatedly talking to someone. “Hey,” Stan says. “Ready to head home?”

Bill glances at him, then looks down at Audra. She nods, and both she and Bill say their goodbyes to the people in the circle. They all head to the door. When they get there, Eddie pauses.

“I’m not going back with you guys,” he mutters. “I have to stay and . . .” He can’t even think of a good excuse.

Audra fist pumps. “Get it, Eddie!” she says.

Bill hugs him. “Stay safe, okay?” he says.

Audra gives him a cheeky grin and Stan flashes him a slightly drunken thumbs up. Then they all head out the door, leaving Eddie standing there wondering if he’s being a huge idiot.

He heads down the hallway, doing his best to duck past the living room to avoid Ben and Bev. His hands sweat as he gets closer and closer to Richie’s door. There’s a polaroid photo of the beach stuck to the outside of it. Eddie tries to wipe his palms off on his t-shirt before he goes in. 

Richie’s sitting propped up against the headboard of his bed. His room has a bright rug covering the floor, and he’s got scattered photographs covering the walls. The light’s dim; he’s got one lamp with some type of pink shawl draped over it so it casts the whole room in a haze of warmth. Eddie softly closes the door behind him and Richie looks over.

“My roommate left,” Eddie blurts out. “Him and his girlfriend, and Stan, they all took off for Harlem.” 

“Not you?” Richie says. 

“Didn’t want to leave yet,” Eddie says honestly.

Richie pushes himself up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Wasn’t positive you were going to come,” he says. 

“I wasn’t either,” Eddie says. He lingers by the door for a moment before cautiously making his way to Richie’s bed. He stands by the side. 

“You’ve gotten me in here,” Eddie says. “Now what?”

He stands up, looming over Eddie. He reaches out a hand and cups Eddie’s face. 

“Now this,” Richie says, and leans down to kiss him.

It’s nothing like their first kiss. Richie’s mouth is hungry, devouring him. His lips open and his tongue slips between Eddie’s teeth. He tastes like cigarettes and Eddie somehow doesn’t mind it when it’s mixed with the taste of Richie. Eddie stands on his tiptoes and wraps his arms around Richie’s neck, pulling him closer to his level. He presses his body up against his. Richie’s arm snakes around his waist and he pulls Eddie flush up against his chest. 

Maybe it’s just because Eddie hasn’t kissed anyone in a while, but he feels like all his nerve endings are on fire, like he can’t get enough of the feel of Richie’s body against his. He wants to lose himself in Richie, forget the point where his mouth ends and Richie’s begins. 

They kiss for a while but he begins to feel the pressure in his feet, so he pulls away. He gives Richie a light push, and he falls back down on the bed. “Is that okay?” Eddie asks. It’s not always he wants to take the lead but something about Richie wants to make him take control, work him over thoroughly and completely. 

“Never been thrown around in bed before, but I’m willing to give it a go just to see you try and toss me.”

Eddie pushes back his shoulders so that Richie’s lying down on the bed. Richie scoots up a little and Eddie straddles him. He leans down to kiss him, hands tangling in Richie’s hair. It’s soft; Eddie can feel the gentle brush of curls against his finger. 

Richie reaches a hand back and grabs him by the ass, pulling him closer against him. Eddie moans a little into his mouth. He grinds down, and Richie rises to meet him.

Richie pulls away from his mouth and begins kissing down his neck. “Wanted to do this since the first time I met you,” he says. “I walked into that rehearsal room and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.” He sucks down gently and Eddie pushes down on him with his hips. “I thought, ‘That’s the cutest fucking boy I’ve ever laid eyes on.’”

“Stop calling me cute,” Eddie says. “Not fair that you get to be hot and I’m just cute.”

Richie runs his hands up and down his sides. “You think I’m hot?” he says, smiling a little. 

“Shut up, you know you are,” Eddie says, flustered.

Richie sucks on the skin right above his collarbone. “I think you’re hot too,” he says. “You can be hot and cute at the same time. And you’re definitely hot as fuck.” 

Richie’s hands reach the hem of his shirt and begins to pull it over his head. “It’s hot when you take charge of the room, it’s hot when you glare at me and I know you don’t really mean it. And this?” he says, getting Eddie’s shirt off his head. “This is insanely hot.” He runs his hands down Eddie’s chest, gently thumbing one of his nipples. Eddie lets out what he’s sure is a very embarrassing sound.

“Like that, don’t you?” says Richie, smirking. He brings his hand back up and begins circling his thumb around. He leans forward and gently begins to suck on the other one. Eddie almost involuntarily grasps at the hair at the nape of Richie’s neck.

He’s always been a little embarrassed over how sensitive his nipples are. It felt like such a silly thing to get so worked up over. But he loves the attention Richie’s paying them, loves the feel of his mouth and of his tongue swirling around. He settles his hips down closer against Richie’s, reaching forward to try and wrestle with the buttons on Richie’s shirt without detaching Richie from his chest. 

Richie pulls away. “I’m gonna have to stop doing that if you want to get your hands on this bod,” he says. 

“You could help,” Eddie says.

“What’s the fun in that when I get to watch you work?” Richie replies. 

Without impediments, Eddie quickly gets the shirt unbuttoned. He leans down and pushes it back over Richie’s shoulders. They go back to kissing, continuing to run their hands over each other. Richie moves his hand to the skin right above Eddie’s hip and rubs circles there with his thumb. He dips lower beneath Eddie’s jeans, the pads of his finger skimming the skin there. Eddie kisses him urgently, insistently. 

Richie reaches for the button of Eddie’s jeans and undoes it with one hand. He begins tugging the zipper down. Eddie hops off and begins to tug down his pants. “You too,” he says, gesturing at Richie. Richie eagerly wriggles out of his jeans. “You don’t take any time, huh?” he says.

“You think I haven’t wanted to do this just as bad as you? You’re annoyingly fuckable. And fucking annoying.”

“Oh yeah, say more mean shit to me, that really gets me going.”

“Shut up,” Eddie says, and leans down to kiss him. Eddie pulls himself back down onto the pillows until Richie is hovering on top of him. He leans down to kiss Eddie and puts one leg between his, gently pushing himself against Eddie’s thigh. Eddie wraps a leg around him, pulling him closer. He reaches one hand and grabs Richie’s ass, pushing it against him. Richie groans.

Eddie can feel Richie’s dick pushing against him through the thin material of his underwear. He reaches his free hand out and begins to gently rub the tip through the fabric.

“Fucking tease,” Richie gasps out. 

“Can’t help that you’re greedy,” Eddie says. He swipes his hand down, still only touching him through his underwear, and Richie bucks against him. 

“You’re killing me here, Eds,” Richie says.

Eddie removes his hand. “I told you, don’t call me Eds,” he says, pulling Richie down for a bruising kiss. Richie braces himself above Eddie, and Eddie reaches his hands out, fingers dipping beneath the waistband of Richie’s underwear. He moves his hands down further, feeling his skin on Richie’s as he pulls him closer. Eddie begins to pull Richie’s underwear down, skimming his hips. Richie sits up to kick it off and Eddie just stares. “Holy shit,” he says.

Richie looks concerned. “Is something wrong?” he asks.

“You have the biggest dick I’ve ever seen,” Eddie blurts out. “What the fuck am I supposed to do with that?”

Richie smirks. “Whatever you want, baby,” he says, leaning down to kiss Eddie. 

Eddie reaches his hand out and wraps it around Richie’s dick. It feels thick in his hands, and warm. He begins to move his hand up and down slowly. He does that thing with his wrist that he knows feels really good and Richie lets out a soft little sigh.

“You wanna take those off?” Richie says, gesturing to Eddie’s underwear. Eddie pushes his hips off the bed and pulls them down. There’s something always so awkward and ungainly about getting undressed for sex, the flailing limbs and the interruption of rhythm. But Richie doesn’t make him feel self conscious, continuing to look at him hungrily even as Eddie’s kicking down his underwear. Once he’s completely undressed, Richie hovers back over him. He leans down to kiss Eddie, and Eddie feels the gentle brush of their dicks touching. He gasps into Richie’s mouth. 

Richie continues to move above him, grinding up against him. But Eddie wants more. He takes one hand out and wraps it around both of them, failing to get his hand all the way around. He strokes up and down gently. He feels Richie twitch underneath him, and the feeling of Richie’s dick pushing against his own sends a thrill through his whole body. He moves his hand up and down faster, dragging it up and down their lengths. 

After a bit Richie detaches his mouth from Eddie’s. “I’d really, really like to fuck you,” he says bluntly. Eddie feels what blood there was remaining in his head rush to his dick. “Good, I’d like to be fucked,” he says a little woozily. “Glad we’re in alignment for once.” 

“I’ll show you alignment,” Richie says. He pauses for a moment. “You know, when I align my dick inside of you.”

“I’ll leave if you make dumb jokes while we have sex.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll leave,” Richie says, dipping his head down to Eddie’s neck. “I think you like my dumb jokes. I think you’re going to let me fuck you and crack whatever stupid jokes I want because it’ll feel too good for you to wanna stop.”

“You’re so fucking full of yourself,” Eddie gasps out. The feeling of Richie’s hot mouth on his skin is sending electricity all the way to his toes.

“You’re the one who’s about to be full of me,” Richie mumbles into the crook of Eddie’s neck. Eddie pushes him off furiously. “You’re so-so-” he says furiously. Then he pulls in Richie by the back of his head and kisses him ferociously. He hates that Richie’s stupid jokes still manage to turn him on even at the same time they annoy him. He pushes his hips up against Richie’s.

“You gonna fuck me or not?” he says, pulling away eventually. “So goddamn bossy,” Richie says. He rolls off Eddie and goes to the bedside table. He digs around in the drawer until he triumphantly pulls out a bottle of lube and a condom. He shifts back towards Eddie and pops open the bottle of lube, squirting some on his hand. He lays down next to Eddie and reaches past his dick, finding his entrance with one finger. He circles it gently and Eddie feels all of his nerve endings stand to attention. Richie leans down and begins sucking on Eddie’s nipple, tongue lapping all the way around. Eddie reaches out and tangles his hands in Richie’s hair.

“Wanted to grab your stupid hair just like this,” Eddie says. “You walked into the room and your hair was so fucking messy and I wanted to run my hands through it.”

“Don’t really own a comb,” Richie says. Eddie looks at him horrified, but before he can say anything Richie moves his finger forward and begins pushing in and out of Eddie gently, giving him time to get used to the stretch. He gets in deeper, his finger moving more easily as Eddie loosens up. 

“Fuck, more,” Eddie moans. “How are you so goddamn hot?” Richie says and adds a second finger, moving them both in circles before he begins to scissor them.

Eddie knows he hasn’t sex in a while but he doesn’t remember hands inside of him feeling like Richie’s do. All of Richie is big, he thinks giddily. He doesn’t know how he’s going to take him all but he's damn sure going to try. 

Richie takes his time; he probably knows he needs to stretch Eddie out before he can handle him. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” Richie breathes out. “Can’t even imagine how it’s gonna feel to be inside you.” He adds a third finger, pushing into him. Eddie pushes back against him, taking Richie’s fingers even deeper. Richie continues to work him over and Eddie relaxes into the pillows. 

When he feels like he’s sufficiently prepared, he tells Richie, “Get on with it.” Richie grins at him before he pulls out, grabs the condom, and rolls it down his dick. He moves back towards Eddie. 

“Can I be on top?” Eddie says. He wants to be in control, wants to feel himself push down on Richie.

“Better view for me,” Richie says. Eddie sits up and Richie takes his position lying back. Eddie grabs some of the lube and coats him up. Richie’s been pretty thorough, but it’s always better to be safe than sorry, especially with a dick as big as Richie’s. He straddles Richie’s hips, and Richie looks up at him with pure want.

“God, you look so gorgeous on top of me,” he says. “So fucking beautiful. Can’t believe I’m about to fuck you.”

“If you don’t think you’re the one about to get fucked you haven’t been paying attention.”

Eddie positions himself above Richie and begins to sink down slowly. He was right; he’s glad Richie did so much prep work. It burns a little as he lowers himself, his walls stretching out. He takes his time, watching Richie as he moves downward. Richie’s looking up at him through lidded eyes, lips gently parted.

“Can’t believe how tight you are,” he says.

“That’s just because your dick is fucking huge,” Eddie says. He just sits over Richie for a moment, getting used to the feeling. He settles down, tentatively moving his hips. Richie gently leans forward and runs a hand down the curve of his thigh. Eddie rocks onto him. 

“You gonna just lie there?” he asks.

“Oh, I’m ceding all control. You’re running this show, baby.”

“Damn fucking straight.” Eddie begins to move his hips up and down, feeling Richie slide part of the way in and out of him. He goes faster, beginning to bounce up and down in a steady rhythm. Richie reaches out and grabs his hips, moving him on top of him. He bucks upward, hitting Eddie’s prostate. Eddie emits a deep moan, pushing himself up and down over Richie.

“Hot when you take control,” Richie pants out. “Love watching you on top of me. Wanna see you fuck yourself on me.”

Eddie reaches out a hand and grabs one of Richie’s. Twisting around, he grabs the bottle of lube and squirts some into Richie’s hand. He looks down at him, taking in Richie’s dazed expression. “You gonna pull your weight here?” he asks. “Or do I have to do everything myself?” Richie nods frantically, and Eddie moves his hand closer to him. He places it on his own dick, wrapping the fingers around. Richie begins to stroke him up and down hard and fast while Eddie continues to thrust down. Richie keeps hitting that spot deep inside him, and his head begins to go fuzzy as he feels something build in his gut. Richie’s hand feels huge, enveloping him. He thrusts down harder, faster.

“I’m gonna-” he gasps out. “Richie, keep moving your hand like that and I’m gonna come.”

“Wanna make you come. Want you to ride me till you come all over me, please, wanna make you feel good,” Richie babbles out. 

Eddie moves faster, faster, until the edges of his toes are curling. He comes with a full body shudder and a little scream, clenching around Richie’s dick. He feels himself pulsing into Richie’s hand, and for the first time he likes the feeling of making someone else dirty like that.

“So good,” Richie moans. “You look so beautiful when you come.” He thrusts once, twice, into Eddie, grabbing his hips to pull him deeper until he throws back his head and makes an incredibly loud sound between a moan and a shout. He stills, hands not leaving Eddie’s hips, and Eddie feels him soften inside of him. Instead of moving off, he just leans on Richie’s chest. Richie’s hand gently strokes his back. After a moment, Eddie rolls off of him and collapses next to him on the bed. They’re both quiet for a moment.

“My knees are gonna be so sore tomorrow,” Eddie says idly.

“What an old man problem to have. You just had incredible sex, and you’re worried about your joints? Might as well be in a retirement home. Although I’ve heard people have a lot of sex there. So maybe that is truly an old man problem.”

“Incredible sex, huh?” Eddie says, turning his head towards Richie’s in the dim light of the room. Richie doesn’t look back at him, instead staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah, I mean-I thought so,” he says. 

“Guess we’re finding more and more things we’re in agreement over,” Eddie says.

Richie turns his head towards him, smiling. He reaches out a hand and cups Eddie’s face, pulling him forward to kiss him. Eddie lets himself enjoy it for a moment before he pulls away.

“I’m going to shower,” he says, hopping out of bed. “Do you have a towel I can borrow?”

Richie pulls the condom off and leans over the side of the bed to toss it in a trashcan. He looks over at Eddie. “Why the fuck are you going to shower?”

“Because we just had sex,” Eddie says like he’s stating something incredibly obvious. He can’t imagine going through all of that physical exertion and not getting clean afterwards. He’s never had sex in a place that didn’t have immediate access to a shower.

“Do you always shower after sex?” Richie asks.

“It’s gross to sleep in your own sweat,” Eddie retorts. “You don’t have to join me, but I’m going to.”

“Okay, just so you know, it’s possible there’s party stragglers. Or Ben and Bev out there cleaning up. And everyone out there probably heard what just happened because apparently neither of us are good at keeping it down. Do you really wanna walk to the bathroom, take an incriminating shower, and walk back here?”

“Fuck,” Eddie says, and stops to consider it, weighing his desire to be clean against his desire to not expose himself to potentially awkward situations. It’s not like Richie’s going to shower or the sheets are going to get cleaned so he’s going to get all dirty anyway. He sighs, and asks “Do you have a towel at least?” Richie points to the towel hanging up on a hook behind the door, and Eddie grabs it. He cleans himself up as best he can before hopping into bed next to Richie. Richie leans over him to put his glasses on the bedside table before sneaking an arm around Eddie’s waist to draw him close to him. Eddie rests his head on his chest.

“You’re a cuddler,” he observes, reaching his arm over Richie, feeling the warmth of his skin. 

“Nothing beats some post coital bliss and the best way to maintain it is to not get out of bed. Now let me bask.”

They’re quiet for a moment, Eddie gently brushing his fingers down Richie’s chest. Eventually he snorts.

“What?” Richie asks. 

“Can’t believe you threw a whole party just to fuck me,” Eddie says. 

“Oh, I had no expectation we were gonna fuck. I was really hoping we’d make out in the bathroom, but anything beyond that would have just been a bonus. I had no idea you were such a horny bastard.”

“It was gonna happen eventually,” Eddie says. 

“You been dreaming about getting this dick?”

“Shut up, you know I wanted to fuck you on first sight too. I just also thought you were kind of an asshole.”

“Now you know I’m a charming asshole instead of an irresponsible asshole. Or at least more of a half and half mixture.”

"That's not true," Eddie says. "You're . . . you. Any maybe you is a lot, but it's a good kind of a lot." Eddie knows he isn't making much sense, but he's trying to articulate the mess of intensity and contradictions that is Richie Tozier, and he doesn't really have the words.

Richie doesn't say anything, just continues to stroke his hair.

Eddie feels himself getting pulled under. He’s always sleepy after sex, and by this point it must be past two in the morning. He doesn’t usually like to fall asleep physically touching someone; he’s invested in large beds just so he could avoid that, always keeping to his side. But something about Richie’s chest feels so comfortable, being cushioned gently against his side, that he doesn't want to move. So he lets himself drift off just like that, lulled by the feel of Richie’s hand on his back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weeks of simmering sexual tension led us here. 
> 
> Come talk to me on twitter [@beepbeepbxtch](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) and tumblr [toziertool](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/)!


	7. love of the heart or love too short

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Richie explore whatever their relationship is

When Eddie comes to he registers that he’s far more overheated is that he usually is in the mornings. He pretty immediately attributes that to the large man in bed next to him, and his night comes back to him quickly.

He had sex with Richie. He'd completely abandoned his professional boundaries, slept with one of his actors, stayed the night even. Eddie avoids sharing beds with people and yet here he is, legs tangled up with Richie’s.

Richie seems solidly out. He’s snoring a little bit. His face looks somehow younger without his glasses, his eyes softened in sleep.

On mornings he hasn’t been drinking Eddie’s body usually wakes him up relatively early, so he’s guessing it's somewhere around eight or nine. Richie’s room is dim; he’s got thick blackout curtains pulled across the window. 

Eddie hops out of bed and begins rooting around the room for his clothes. He finds them in various puddles turned inside out. He’s hopping into his pants when Richie wakes up. “Hey,” he says sleepily. “Where’s the fire?”

“Nowhere, I just need to go home,” Eddie responds. “Not sure if you've realized but I still haven’t showered, and I feel like I have a second sweat skin. Especially from lying on you all night. Do you always run that hot?”

“I’ll show you hot,” Richie mumbles.

“Not your best,” Eddie replies, pulling on his shirt. 

Richie doesn’t respond and he assumes he’s drifted off again. 

Eddie finds all of his belongings eventually, patting down his pockets to check for his phone, keys, and wallet. Finding them all there, he turns back to the bed. To his surprise, Richie’s looking at him. He’s only got his eyes about half way open, and Eddie’s not even sure if he can see anything without his glasses on, but he’s gazing softly in Eddie’s direction. 

Eddie doesn’t know how to acknowledge what happened, how their relationship has shifted. In the light of day he has no idea what this means for him and Richie and he doesn’t want to deal with it right now. So before Richie can say anything he says, “I’m going to go home now. Gotta make sure Bill’s not too hungover.”

“Can’t believe you’re mobile this early,” Richie says.

“I’m a morning person,” Eddie responds.

“Now we have nothing in common again,” Richie says blearily. “Fucking hate mornings.”

Eddie goes over to Richie’s bedside. He still doesn’t know what to say, so instead he settles on, “I’ll see you at rehearsal on Monday. And don’t be late,” he adds automatically.

Richie’s eyes flash open and he smiles a wicked smile. Eddie takes him in, all sleepy and bed rumpled. His hair is sticking up in every direction, and he’s got a pillow crease down the side of his face. Somehow, he’s still very attractive to Eddie. “What are you gonna do to me if I’m late?” Richie says.

Eddie leans in. He doesn’t care about morning breath (a thing that's never been true before), doesn’t even care that he hasn’t brushed his teeth in twenty four hours. He kisses Richie hungrily, tugging on his hair. He pulls away and says a little raggedly, “Don’t even fucking try it.” He pulls away and heads to the door. “See you soon, Spaghetti!” Richie calls after him. 

“No more of the fucking nicknames,” Eddie says, and makes his way out the door.

Blessedly, neither Ben nor Beverly appear to be up and about. Eddie still makes his way to the door quietly. He steps outside and begins his walk to the train. 

He feels bad for leaving so early. He should have stayed and helped clean up. But he wanted to avoid the ‘where do we go from here’ conversation, the further solidifying of whatever their relationship was turning in to.

Because he’s freaking out just the tiniest bit. He has to go back and be in a rehearsal room with Richie after this, mark down his movements in neat little notes and schedule his costume fittings. This is exactly why he hasn’t slept with an actor before. He has no idea how to go back and be normal in that space.

Maybe they were having causal sex. Was that causal sex they had just had? Nothing about it had felt casual. But he knows Richie sleeps around, that random sex is a part of his life that in a way it isn’t for Eddie’s. But it’s also not fair for Eddie to make assumptions about how Richie might be thinking based on his past. 

Is this a friends with benefits thing? He and Richie aren’t really friends though. They’ve been something else from the first night they met. It’s becoming clearer and clearer to him that Richie is a good friend to have but Eddie realistically knows that’s not where they’re headed.

They can’t date because even if Richie was interested and Eddie was interested they have to work on this show together. Eddie can’t imagine the nightmare of navigating a new relationship with someone you were about to open a show with. Even beyond that, the professional judgement he would feel, his own second guessing over whether he was treating everyone in the cast equally. But he’s already jeopardized that by sleeping with Richie in the first place.

Or maybe it was a one time thing that was never going to be repeated. Just two people who were very attracted to each other needing to get it out of their systems. One and done. Maybe that’s what Richie wants. 

Eddie reaches the train and, to drown out his thoughts, puts on Run the Jewels. He finds it easier to not think with fast paced rap in the background. He makes it all the way uptown, the trains quiet. Once he gets off in Harlem he texts Bill to ask if he wants a sandwich from the bodega. Bill accepts gratefully, and Eddie stops for some bacon, egg, and cheeses. 

When he gets home Bill and Audra are curled up on the couch together, still in their pajamas. Bill is squinting at the light coming in from the window and rubbing his temples. Eddie deposits the sandwiches in their laps. “How’s the hangover?” he asks, taking a seat.

“Mine’s non-existent, Bill’s is a bitch,” Audra says. “Someone switched to straight whiskey at some point.” She begins to dig into her bagel.

Bill rubs his head. “It just went down so easy.” He unwraps his own sandwich and takes a bite. “Oh, this is so good,” he moans. “I need my body to absorb this grease.”

“Wait, fuck Bill’s hangover, how was it?” Audra asks. “Did you guys fuck? Was it good? Is he into weird stuff in bed?”

“I’m not going to answer any of that,” Eddie says primly. Audra and Bill just stare at him. “We’re not gonna talk about anything else until you tell us,” Audra says. 

Eddie sighs. “Do we have any coffee?” he says, getting up. He should have just gotten some at the bodega but he can’t stand shitty New York takeaway coffee. 

“You have to make some. You can’t avoid us by going into the kitchen, this apartment isn’t that big!” Audra calls out.

“I just need caffeine, okay?” Eddie says. He gets the pour over set up and goes back into the living room. Audra and Bill are still just watching him.

“We slept together,” he says bluntly. “And it was really fucking good.”

Audra whoops and Bill winces, burying himself in his sandwich. 

“Do you think it’s going to happen again?” Audra asks.

Eddie sits down in the armchair. “I have no clue. I barely know what it means that it happened once.”

“So you guys didn't talk?” Bill says.

“Not really,” Eddie replies. “Like, we talked about how we both wanted to sleep with each other, but that was pretty obvious by the end of the night anyway.”

“Do you want it to happen again?” Bill asks.

Eddie closes his eyes. He’s been avoiding this one, not wanting to look down the barrel of his own desires. Because now that he’s slept with Richie once he wants to keep doing it, even though it presents some logistical issues. 

“Yes,” he says. “Fuck.”

“You should talk to him before you have rehearsal again,” Audra says. “Because if you don’t the energy in that room is going to be weird as fuck. I remember I was doing this show where two of the actors were sleeping together on the down low and no one could understand why they kept insisting we do a prolonged intimacy call at the beginning of every show.”

“That’s exactly what i'm trying to avoid!” says Eddie. “I don’t want to become a show horror story. Or have people not want to work with me because I’m messy. Oh my god, I can’t believe I slept with an actor,’ he says, realization creeping over him. “I’ve been doing this for ten years and I’ve never even kissed anyone in a show before, and now I’ve gone and fucked Richie after three weeks of knowing him. Oh fuck. Fuck, you guys, what do I do?” He feels his panic rising to the surface.

“You can’t unfuck him at this point,” Audra observes.

“‘I am in blood stepped in so far that, should I wade no more, returning were as tedious as go o’er,’” Bill adds.

Eddie glares at him. “Fuck you, Bill, that’s the best you have to offer? Fucking Macbeth?” He’s annoyed enough that it somehow overwhelms his anxiety. 

“Text him something totally normal so at least you’re not going into rehearsal with the last interaction you had you leaving his bedroom. Just to break the seal,” says Audra.

“Good idea, I’ll do that,” Eddie says, before getting up to deal with the whistling kettle.

\-----

Eddie does not do that. He doesn’t text at all Richie because he doesn’t know what to say. ‘How was the rest of your weekend?’ is lame, ‘Really enjoyed your party,’ too suggestive, ‘Is this gonna keep happening?’ way too upfront. So heads into rehearsal with no idea of where they stand.

Mike gets there at ten minutes till, the other actors trickling in after that. Soon it’s 5:58 and Richie is still not there. Eddie pulls out his phone to draft a text message. He sees he still has Richie saved as ‘Actor Richie’ in his phone. He considers changing it for a second, then goes back to typing something up. He’s pissed Richie is sliding back into pulling this shit. This is why Eddie knew it would be a bad idea for them to sleep together; Richie would suddenly think he could get away with anything he wanted.

Eddie's staring at the clock on his phone. 6:00 pm. He’s going to give it three minutes and then he’s going to send Richie a very frostily toned text message. 

The clock switches to 6:01. Almost immediately, the door swings open, and Richie walks in. He’s got stubble dusted on his cheeks and Eddie feels this weird little flippy thing go off in his chest. Richie doesn’t look at him.

“You’re late,” Eddie says. 

“Oops,” Richie says, glancing over. He grins at Eddie.

What follows are the most sexually tense four hours of Eddie’s life. He deeply regrets not talking to Richie earlier because he’s hyper conscious of every time he’s looking at Richie, or Richie might be looking at him. He can’t concentrate on his computer, constantly seeking out the other man in the corners of his eyes. He tries to interact with him as little as possible, keeping his voice steady every time Richie calls for a line. 

Richie laughs and jokes with the other actors, seemingly unaffected by the energy Eddie feels in the room. But sometimes he’ll catch Eddie’s eyes, and when they meet, the corner of his mouth twitches almost imperceptibly upwards in the barest hint of a smirk. Eddie wants to push him up against a wall and kiss the point where his top and bottom lips meet.

Somehow Eddie makes it through rehearsal without every nerve ending in his body exploding. They wrap up, all of the actors calling out their goodbyes. Mike walks out with Dean, deep in discussion about what the Jesuits really believe in. Soon, almost everyone has cleared out. Eddie’s putting the last of the tables away when he sees Richie leaning up against the wall by the door looking at Eddie. The room feels both impossibly large and impossibly small all at once, like there’s a vast distance stretching between him and Richie that he could cross in one step if he wanted to.

“You were late,” Eddie says. 

“Can’t get anything past you,” Richie says. 

Eddie begins walking over to him. “I told you not to be late again,” he says.

“But you didn’t tell me the consequences. Can’t really expect me to behave if I don’t know what I’m up against.”

Eddie’s standing in front of Richie now, still meeting his eye. “What you’re up against?” he says.

“Yeah; wanted to see what you had planned for me,” Richie says. He looks far too pleased with himself. “Or what incentives you might have to keep me showing up on time.”

Eddie grabs him down by the shirt collar and yanks him down to kiss him. He presses his body up against Richie’s until Richie’s back hits the wall. He kisses him ferociously, pushing his body up against his. He sucks on Richie’s bottom lip, biting down on it a little. Richie’s hands pull up against his hips, bringing him closer. 

As much as he’s enjoying this, he’s conscious about the time. So he pulls away from Richie and says raggedly, “We need to get out of here; we forfeited our rights to this room ten minutes ago.”

“Just when we’re getting started?” Richie says, leaning down to suck on Eddie’s neck. “Definitely haven’t learned my lesson yet about being late. Probably gonna keep doing it, because so far the consequences are pretty sweet. So unless you want that you should come over to my place and instill timeliness into me.”

Eddie considers. He never does this, never sleeps over at other people’s house on weeknights. He has work tomorrow, which means he’s going to have to be up early in the morning. But the train ride back to his apartment is just as long as the train ride to Richie’s. The only problem would be not having clothes in the morning. He could take Richie back to his place, but his home is weirdly something he doesn’t want to expose yet. He feels in some ways like they’re moving too fast even though he doesn’t know where they're going. Richie’s apartment seems safer even if it’s more logistically challenging.

“I do need to make sure you’re not late again,” he says. “Best to be thorough.”

Richie raises an eyebrow at him. “What a good stage manager,” he says. Eddie moves off him, and goes to grab his bag. Walking down the hallway to the elevator, Eddie snorts. “What?” Richie asks.

“Did you plan that?” Eddie says.

“Yeah, down to the second,” Richie responds. “I was waiting outside that door for like ten minutes before I came in.”

“You don’t have to keep luring me, I'm not a fish,” Eddie says.

“Why would I stop when it keeps working?” Richie responds.

Somehow, Eddie doesn’t know, they keep it light on the rest of the way back to Richie’s apartment. They go over the rehearsal, talking about what shape the show is in as they walk to the train. Richie tells him his idea about getting a karaoke machine for the bar. "We can do a regular thing on Thursday nights," he says. "Those are always the slowest. Plus, then you can swing by and I'll have a partner for 'Total Eclipse of the Heart.'" Eddie tells him that there's no chance he would do that. Internally, he thinks if he had enough daiquiris he would belt 'Nothing's Gonna Stop Us Now' on a dingy stage in Richie's bar, especially if Richie was cheering him on. 

Eddie tries his best to finish his rehearsal report on the train, telling Richie to quit bugging him and put on his headphones if he needs stimulation. Richie won’t stop making jokes about the word stimulation and Eddie retaliatory writes ‘Richie Tozier: 1 minute late.’ He didn’t take as many notes as he needed to during rehearsal, and he scrambles to pull together some of Mike’s comments from memory. Eventually, he comes up with something satisfactory, and sends it off at the next stop he has service at.

They get to Richie’s apartment and he cautiously opens the door. “No Ben or Bev,” he says, looking out. “They must already be asleep.” He beckons Eddie inside, and Eddie follows him down the hallway to his bedroom.

The second time is somehow better than the first time. It’s slower; Richie has a clearer sense of the spots on Eddie to brush that’ll set him off, the little touches that make him shiver. He tells Richie what to do to him and Richie complies, letting Eddie pin his hands to the bed as he leans over him. Afterwards, they cuddle for a moment before Eddie hops off to take a shower. “Last time was a one off,” he tells Richie when he comes back, towel drying his hair. “I will not go into work tomorrow smelling like I just had sex.”

“Guess that puts fucking in the morning off the table,” Richie says.

“Like you’ll be up when I'm leaving,” Eddie retorts, getting back into bed.

“Some parts of me will be up, if you know what I’m saying,” Richie says, nudging Eddie. 

“I’m not going to fuck you in your sleep,” Eddie says. “That’s rape.”

“Not if I consent to it while I’m awake,” Richie says. “And I readily consent. Would fucking love to wake up with you on top of me.” He draws Eddie close to him, and Eddie lays his head down on Richie’s chest. 

They’re quiet for a moment before Eddie can’t keep it inside himself any longer. “Is this-is this going to keep happening?” he asks “Like, is this a thing now?” He feels incredibly immature referring to this as a ‘thing’ but he doesn’t have any better words. 

“I don’t know,” Richie says. “Do you want it to keep happening?”

Eddie’s glad Richie can’t see his face right now. “I mean, yeah,” he says. “I’d like that.”

Richie’s arms tighten around him. “Good, me too,” he says.

“But we have to keep it quiet,” Eddie says. “I don’t want anyone from the show knowing, especially Mike. I don’t want anyone to think I’m treating you differently, or letting you get away with shit.”

“So this is a secret?” Richie says. “A secret, sneaky, sexy affair?”

“It’s not an affair, neither of us are in a relationship. But definitely a secret.”

“I can live with that,” Richie says. “I’m great at keeping secrets.”

“I don’t believe you,” Eddie responds. 

“Tell me a secret, right now, and I promise I’ll keep it forever.”

“Okay, I’m in love with Bill.”

“Really?” Richie’s voice goes a little high at the end.

“No, idiot, I’m not trusting you with any of my secrets. Now sleep,” Eddie says. “Some of us have to work in the morning.”

“Yeah, and some of us have to work until four am, who really has it worse?”

“Everyone living under capitalism,” Eddie says. “Now shut up.”

Richie does, and Eddie finds himself drifting off. He hears Richie say quietly, “You’re definitely not in love with Bill though, right?”

“Not in the slightest,” Eddie says. Richie doesn't respond, and Eddie finds himself drifting off, still in Richie’s embrace.

\---

When his alarm goes off the next morning Richie is, predictably, not awake. Eddie gets out of bed and looks around for his pants. He pulls them on, then considers Richie’s wardrobe. He goes back over to the bed and whispers to Richie, “Can I borrow a shirt?”

“Not one of the nice ones,” Richie mumbles.

“How the fuck am I supposed to tell the nice ones from the not nice ones?” Eddie says.

Richie’s been pulled back under and doesn’t respond. Eddie goes through the closet and rifles through, eventually finding a white button up that he deems work appropriate. He goes back over to the bed and hovers over Richie. He has the impulse to lean forward and kiss him on the forehead but resists it. “I’ll see you later, okay?” he says. Richie just mumbles unintelligibly.

Eddie leaves Richie’s room and heads to the front door. He’s making his way through the living room when he hears a “Hey,” which startles him enough he jumps slightly into the air. He sees Ben coming out of the kitchen, dressed for work in a blazer and slacks. He’s holding a mug of coffee in his hand, and he smiles when he sees Eddie. “Good morning,” he says.

Eddie feels vaguely embarrassed. He knows that almost everyone has sex, and it’s not weird that other people know you’ve had sex, but he tries to avoid thinking about it as much as possible. But his very presence in this apartment early in the morning screams ‘I just got laid’ in a way that makes him feel deeply uncomfortable. 

Ben, however,seems to be unruffled. “If you’re not in a rush you should have some breakfast,” Ben says. “There’s some coffee leftover too.”

Eddie doesn’t need to leave for work immediately, and he’s a little hungry. He feels bad that Richie’s roommates keep feeding him, but they do keep offering. So he accepts, and follows Ben into the kitchen.

“Is yogurt and granola okay?” Ben asks. “We have some fresh fruit around here too.”

“Just plain yogurt would be good,” says Eddie. “Maybe a little honey.”

Ben grabs him a bowl and pulls it together. “There’s coffee in the pot,” he says. “Don't know how you take it but help yourself to some milk.”

“Black is fine, thanks” Eddie says. “Can I grab a mug?” Ben gestures to a cabinet next to him and Eddie pulls it open. He snorts when he sees a mug with a screeching possum on it that says ‘Eat trash, hail Satan,’ and pulls it out. 

Ben brings over the still steaming coffee pot and pours some coffee into Eddie’s mug. He tops himself off before grabbing their bowls of yogurt and heading to the little table in the living room. Eddie follows him.

“Bev and Richie are never up this early,” Ben says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Richie willingly wake up before ten and fashion school taught Bev to keep crazy hours, so she’s either up at four am or four pm. It’s nice to have some company.” He smiles at Eddie. He has an open face, like he’s ready to really listen to anything someone might have to say. Eddie still feels awkward but Ben is just so sincerely kind that he feels no sense of judgement or mockery coming from him, no teasing about how Richie’s shirt doesn’t entirely fit him. 

They start tucking into their breakfasts, and Eddie searches for something to say. Luckily, Ben picks up on his reticence.

“Where do you work?” Ben asks.

“I temp at the front desk at a law firm. It’s not bad; I’d rather be doing theater full time, but that’s another level. When I was in school people said there was no money in theater, and even though I heard that I really didn’t understand how little money there is. Unless you’re doing Frozen on Broadway.”

“Do you want to do Frozen on Broadway?” Ben asks. 

“In some ways yes, in some ways no,” Eddie responds. “It would be cool to be running a massive technical endeavor like that. But what’s the point? It’s all spectacle, no transcendence into a different way of thinking. You're there for two hours, you feel good, you leave and you don't think about it ever again. Theater should make you feel things, force you to bring the experience back with you into the wider world.”

“I understand that,” Ben says. “Not about the spectacle necessary, but about needing something more. A good building should make you feel things too, stand out distinctly in your head. It needs to be functional, but it also has to carry significance beyond its practical capacities. That’s why I like designing.” 

“Do you enjoy being at the firm?” Eddie asks, taking a sip of coffee. 

“It’s fine; they listen to some of my ideas, which is better than most places would. I just feel like we don’t agree on some of the basic principles of interior layouts, but you have to compromise on some things. I want to start my own firm, though. Make my own buildings, huge towers of glass and wide open libraries.”

“So you’re trying to make it big?” Eddie asks. 

“To some extent. I want my name on a building that will stand for years. That’s just the part of that’s still a kid who has something to prove though.” 

“Stage managers never get famous outside of very niche communities. They don’t even have a category at the Tony’s. But I don’t really care about that; I just want to be really, really good at my job.”

“Richie says you’re great at it,” Ben tells him. “He’s complained about a lot of stage managers but he’s only so far had good things to say about you.”

“Yeah, well,” Eddie says, blushing. “I think he’s a little biased.”

Ben laughs, and they continue working on their yogurt bowls. Now that they’ve started talking, it’s easy to continue. Eventually, Eddie finishes his yogurt and checks the time.

“I have to get going,” Eddie says, getting up. “Need to make it to the office at some point.”

“I’ll walk with you to the train if you don’t mind,” Ben offers.

“No, not at all,” Eddie says.

They chat on the way there. Ben tells him about spending his teenage years in small town Texas, and how New York seemed strange and foreign when he came back. Eddie tells him a little about Derry, not going into detail, but telling him enough that Ben agrees it sounds like a terrible place.

The train ride is pleasant too; they talk about the shows Richie’s done that Ben’s gone to, which ones he liked. “I’m excited to see this one,” he tells Eddie. “Although I’m not really looking forward to seeing Richie get shot on stage.”

They say goodbye when Eddie reaches his stop. “I’ll see you later,” Ben tells him, and Eddie feels strangely glad that that’s a certainty now.

\--

For the next week whenever Richie’s called during rehearsal he waits for Eddie to be done before leaving to catch the subway. Eddie writes up his rehearsal report on the train and Richie peers over his shoulder to try and get him to add notes. They go back to Richie’s place and have sex and go to bed. Eddie leaves for work in the morning, having breakfast with Ben before they take the train together. He and Richie have returned to some kind of normalcy at rehearsal, but one or twice Richie tried to find his foot under the table to play footsie. Eddie had just kicked him. 

Having sex with Richie has definitely given him an uptick in his quality of life. He’s getting less sleep, but he’s finding that for once he actually sleeps better in bed with another person. He and Richie text a little through the day, just weird things they see on the street and thoughts they have. 

The weekend after he and Richie started hooking up he goes to see Riley's play. It’s impossible for them to see all of each other's shows, but they try their best. He goes with Riley, following her lead on which is the best place to sit to get the full effect of the lighting. Eddie doesn't love the show-it’s a one man performance about God-but Riley's work is, as always, impressive. After the show they go to a bar down the block to dissect it. Eddie relates every moment he felt a cue was a little off beat, and Riley tells him he’s too anal.

Eventually they end up outside the bar so Riley can have a cigarette. She inhales, then asks him, “So what happened with that actor you wanted to fuck?” He loves that about Riley; she never bullshits around. Being friends with her has made him better at doing the same, even if it's just with her. 

“I, um,” Eddie says. “I fucked him?” he says, inflection turning it into a question.

Riley sighs. “Eddie Kaspbrak, you’ve broken your cardinal rule. You made it all the way through college without once engaging in theater incest-a thing no one has ever done before-and now you’ve cracked. What a sad day.”

“Oh, like you can judge? Remember when you fucked that girl from your visual performance narratives class, blew her off, and then had to watch her final interpretive art piece where she represented you with a bunch of knives?”

“I’m not saying I’m not guilty, I’m just saying you always said you were above this. Really weird to think about you being messy.”

“I’m not being messy,” Eddie says defensively. “And it hasn’t made me any worse at my job.”

“No, I’m sure you’re doing great, can’t imagine an Eddie who doesn't maintain professionalism.”

Eddie thinks about the quality of his work after he and Richie started sleeping together. If he’s being honest with himself, it’s slipped a little. He finds himself even more distracted by Richie during rehearsal, and he rushes through his rehearsal report to spend more time with Richie. He knows the show is shaping up nicely, and he hasn't made any major mistakes, but he’s definitely more distracted.

Somehow picking up on his thoughts, Riley asks, “Is he the type of guy to pull shit, or can he keep his composure?”

“Uh, the former,” Eddie says.

“Be careful, Eddie,” Riley says, flicking ash off the tip of her cigarette. “I don’t want this guy to jerk you around. I don’t trust actors.”

“I’m not saying I trust him,” Eddie says. “All I'm saying is we’re having sex.”

“Are you guys just sleeping together?” Riley asks. “Or are there feelings involved?”

“God, I don't know,” Eddie sighs. “He’s such a flirt, and he’s never sincere. He’s physical with everyone so it’s impossible to tell if he means anything more by it.”

“That’s all about his feelings. What about your feelings?”

Eddie pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Yeah, I fucking like him, okay?” Eddie says. “God, it’s so annoying. Like, we’re having sex, but he knows stuff about when I was a kid, and we keep falling asleep on top of each other. I think about him when I’m at work and I want to tell other people the things he says. It’s embarrassing.”

“Sometimes you have to let yourself feel things, kid,” she says. “Let your emotions flow through you.” 

“Fuck that,” he responds. “Tamp those motherfuckers down. Having feelings for him makes things so much more complicated.”

“Feel them, just don’t do anything about them,” Riley says. “By acknowledging them you let them travel through you, coming to peace with them. Then you can just put them in the back of your mind, and not have to deal with them.”

“Has that ever worked for you?” Eddie asks.

“Not really,” Riley responds. “But you’ve always had better self discipline than me. Just don’t let him get you off your game. Do your best to maintain the room.”

“You know I always do,” he says, hoping by saying it it will become true. He doesn’t want Riley to think worse of him, to think that he’d let his personal life get in the way in his work. 

Riley finishes her cigarette, and they say goodbye outside the bar. She hugs him tight, and says, “Tell me if this guy messes with your heart and I’ll beat his ass.” They head off to their opposite trains, Eddie turning over Riley’s advice in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Jesuit line is a reference to plot point in the play they're doing
> 
> Come talk to me on twitter at [beepbeepbxtch](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) and tumblr at [toziertool](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/)!


	8. take seriously the lack of seriousness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie gets jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a brief nsfw scene and a mild panic attack in this chapter; message me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) or [tumblr](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/) if you want to know where to cut

Eddie’s come to look forward to rehearsal in a different way than before. In the past there’s been shows he’s enjoyed working on where he was happy to go to rehearsal and spend four hours immersed in the world of that work. But now he feels compelled to watch the action not just because it's his job to note down the beats and movements, but because it’s all part of watching Richie work. He knows he’s biased because he’s so taken with Richie in general, but he swears no one he’s ever worked with before has matched his energy.

It’s just him, Richie, Mike, and Leigh, their sole female actor, at rehearsal today. Eddie’s sitting at the rehearsal table watching Mike choreograph the moment where their characters share their first kiss. Not like that’s the focal part of the scene, but it’s all Eddie’s been able to think about during rehearsal. 

Leigh’s been their greatest threat to discovery. After one rehearsal last week she’d stayed in the room chatting with Richie until Eddie had to kick them out. Richie had gone to the bathroom and waited until Leigh left, but it still made Eddie grumpy. He knows Leigh likes Richie even though her affection presents itself in the opposite way than his does. Leigh’s all casual touches and too long eye contact. She laughs at all of Richie’s jokes, even the ones that are just cheap shots. She lets him be the center of attention, pulled in by his orbit. Eddie doesn’t want to make things easy for Richie. He wants to laugh at his jokes because they’re genuinely funny (which they mostly are), not just to get Richie to notice him. He doesn’t need to work for Richie’s attention. 

They finally reach the kiss and Eddie braces himself. He shouldn’t care, he thinks. He’s not dating Richie, and it’s not his business who else he might be kissing outside of rehearsal. Still, Eddie doesn’t relish copying down the beats of their make out.

He sees Richie give Leigh a questioning look, to which she makes a slight nod, before he leans in to kiss her.

Eddie can’t look away. There’s a roaring in his ears drowning out every other sound. The rest of the room drops away into a blank background. He wonders if that’s how Richie looks when he kisses him, if that’s the same shape his hand makes when it settles on Eddie’s face. The kiss starts out slow and then Richie leans into it, pulling Leigh tighter to him. Eddie tries to remember that it’s acting, that Richie is a really good actor, and it doesn’t mean anything.

Eddie’s always had the slightest problem with jealousy. He started out on a lower sexual footing than most other people he knew, and for most of college he felt insecure about his level of experience, clamming up every time someone he was seeing mentioned a past partner. He’d compare himself against these other lovers and would always find himself wanting. He would nervously look around when they were out together to see if his boyfriend at the time was talking to someone else. If he was, he would zero in on the conversation, judging his partner's hand gestures minutely. He’s tried to work on it since he got to the city; he knows it isn’t his most attractive trait. But something about seeing Richie’s hands on someone else incites that need to be enough. He wants to do something stupid, like pull Richie away from Leigh and kiss him in front of everyone else in the room, show Richie that kissing Leigh doesn’t even compare to kissing him.

He tries to shake off these possessive thoughts. Richie isn’t his to control in the slightest. For all he knows, Richie’s out there kissing a lot of people on the nights he doesn’t spend with Eddie. He has lots of opportunities to meet people at the bar, and Eddie’s sure Richie’s customers like to flirt with him. Eddie feels twitchy when he thinks about that.

“Richie, cup your hand around the other side of Leigh’s face this time. And there should be more of a push and pull towards the end,” Mike instructs. Eddie watches them go at it again, Richie holding Leigh against him. It’s somehow even worse the second time, even though Eddie knows what to prepare for. This time he’s less shocked and more overwhelmed with a deep sense of discomfort. He doesn’t want to watch this. He turns back to his computer screen and tries to look at the notes he’s made. Even though he’s okay with this happening in the abstract he doesn’t want it in front of him. 

But is he okay with it happening in the abstract? He keeps turning thoughts over in his head about Richie touching someone else the way he touches him, running his hands down someone else’s body. He doesn’t even hear when Mike calls out to him. When Mike says his name Eddie pulls himself out of it and turns to him. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he says. 

Mike frowns a little. “I said, can you time the scene this time?”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Eddie responds. He keeps his gaze away from Richie, not glancing to see if the other man is looking at him. 

They move back from the kiss, starting the scene from the top. Eddie makes resolute eye contact with his computer screen. He looks at his blocking notes while only occasionally glancing at the action in front of him. Luckily the actors are off book so he doesn’t have to hone in on what they’re saying. 

They get through the rest of rehearsal, not spending too much more time on the kiss. Richie and Leigh don’t really have any chances to talk outside of their acting moments so Eddie isn’t able to over-analyze their interactions. When rehearsal wraps up, Mike joins Eddie to discuss setting up a meeting with all the designers in preparation for going into tech next week. Eddie takes it as an excuse to ignore the rest of the room, not paying attention to Richie and Leigh as they pack up their things. He and Mike are still discussing a day that works when he hears Richie call out over his shoulder, “Catch you on the flippity flip.” Eddie looks over to see him holding open the door for Leigh. He looks at Richie standing there, big hand wrapped around the door handle, looking a little too long before snapping back to Mike.

“Yeah, Wednesday works,” he says. “If you want to come to Midtown I can meet you on my lunch break.”

“I’ll check in with everyone else,” Mike says, then gets his things together. “Night, Eddie,” he says as he makes his way out the door. “Night,” Eddie responds tonelessly.

He puts the room back together himself. He’d grown to like having Richie there to help him, making a dumb running commentary while they folded chairs so it didn’t seem like drudge work.

He waits for Richie for a minute, then heads into the hallway. He doesn’t see him there. He goes to the bathroom and pushes open the door. He glances in, and even ducks his head down to see if there’s feet in any one of the stalls. He doesn’t find any.

He stews as he goes to the elevator. He and Richie didn't have specific plans. They just have a standing arrangement after rehearsal which Richie had no obligation to keep. And it’s not like he could announce to the room, ‘Hey Eddie, we’re not having sex tonight so I can hook up with somebody else.’ Because that was clearly what had happened. He and Leigh had gone off together, and were probably on the train on the way to her apartment now.

He’s in a right state when he makes it through the doors. He’s angry at Richie for shrugging him off and he’s angry at himself for caring. He almost doesn’t hear it when Richie says, “Slow down, speedy Gonzalez.” Eddie comes to a stop and looks to the side. Richie’s lurking by the door to the rehearsal studio, smoking a cigarette. He gives Eddie a smile. “Took you long enough,” he says.

Eddie isn’t prepared for this sudden change of gears. “I thought you left with Leigh,” he says dumbly.

“Figured she was gonna stick around and thought it would be easier to circumvent that. I wanted a cigarette too, and I didn’t know how long you were gonna be there with Mike. We walked out together, but then I lied and said I was taking the M home. So I walked a little bit of the way there then doubled back. No suspicions aroused.”

Eddie stands there, deflated. “Oh,” he says. 

Richie looks at him, a little confused. Then comprehension dawns on his face. “Oh my god, you thought I _left_ left with Leigh?” he says gleefully. 

Eddie begins to flush. “No reason not to think that,” he snaps. “You’re clearly down for the post rehearsal hook up.”

“Did Eddie Spaghetti get jealous?” Richie says, smirking at him. 

Eddie’s face heats up further. He hates how visibly he reacts to Richie’s words, unable to hide how effected he is. “Fuck you,” he says, and starts walking to his train.

Richie throws his half smoked cigarette to the side and runs a little to catch up to him, circling around in front of Eddie and putting his hands out. “Hey, I’m sorry, I’m a dick, you know that about me,” he says. ”I know you’re not jealous, just annoyed about me being rude.”

Eddie looks up at him. “What do you mean, being rude?” he asks.

“You know, because we have plans,” Richie says. “You thought I was blowing them off.”

“I didn’t know we had plans,” Eddie says, not wanting to express that he didn’t know but had hope. Richie blinks a little. “Oh. Well, sorry for assuming, I’ll see you later,” he says, and begins to move away.

Eddie knows he’s messed up. “We can have plans,” Eddie calls out. “If you want.” Richie stops and looks back at him. “Cool. Cool cool cool. I guess we should go back to my place then,” he says, bobbing his head.

They’re quiet on the way to the subway. Usually they talk about rehearsal, but tonight Eddie has nothing he wants to say. They get on the train and sit next to each other on the orange chairs, Eddie keeping distance between their knees.

The train starts moving, and Richie says suddenly, “Would you care if I went home with Leigh? Like, other than if I was blowing off our plans, would you care if I went home with her in general?”

Eddie doesn’t want to respond. The answer, tonight has shown him, is yes. He doesn’t want to think about Richie touching someone else, pressing someone against the bed like he presses Eddie, kissing down their throat and leaving the little marks that Eddie won’t let him.

“No, I wouldn’t care,” he says instead. 

“I wouldn’t do that,” Richie responds. “It would be stupid to hook up with someone else on the show. And also I don’t want to. Like, at all. She’s pretty and everything but she’s not my type. I like ‘em tough and feisty.”

Eddie doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just keeps his mouth shut. The silence stretches between them.

“I haven’t really been sleeping with anyone else,” Richie says. “Since we started hooking up.”

“Yeah, when would you have the time?” Eddie jokes, hoping to cover up how Richie’s admission has thrown him. Richie doesn’t respond, instead tapping his fingers nervously against his knee. 

Emboldened, Eddie says, “I haven't been sleeping with anyone else either.”

“Oh. Well, good,” Richie says, and seems to cringe. 

They sit there a little awkwardly for a second before Richie says suddenly, “Did I ever tell you about the time I ate a worm? It wasn’t even on a dare, it was just to see what it felt like.”

“Oh, god, I don’t want to hear it,” Eddie says. Richie tells him anyway, and Eddie tells him he’s glad he didn’t know him as a kid because he sounds like he was the grossest boy in the world.

Eddie remembers his rehearsal report midway through their train ride and scrambles to finish it. Richie tries to interject with a joke about needing to stock up on breath mints but Eddie glares at him so effectively that he shuts up and leaves him to it.

Eddie sends it off one stop before he has to get off and breathes a sigh of relief. He’s trying hard not to get sloppy, but he knows he’s slipping every time he has to strain to remember which props need to enter from which side of the stage. He has to do better. He needs to stop being distracted by Richie at every moment.

The walk from the train to Richie’s apartment is pleasant, the warm spring air cooled down with the setting of the sun. The route is familiar to Eddie now; the bodega cat that sits outside the store with the yellow awning, the man who smokes backwoods on the street corner. He still doesn’t like Bushwick but he has a better sense of its vibes, why someone might want to call it home. 

They get to Richie’s apartment, and Ben and Bev are curled up on the love seat together. Eddie’s seen them in this position a couple of times, and no longer feels awkward in their presence. They call out greetings, and he waves to them before heading back to Richie’s room.

He feels nervous in a way he hasn’t since the first time they slept together. Richie’s just standing there, looking at him. Eddie drops his bag on the ground, and, finding nothing else to make fake busy as a distraction, is forced to look back at Richie. Richie’s gazing at him softly, appraisingly. He walks over to him and cups Eddie’s face in his hand. When he leans in to kiss him it's gentle, letting his lips smoothly shape themselves around Eddie’s. Eddie pushes back up against him, pushing his hands against his chest and walking him slowly to the bed. He pushes him down and they fall over in a jumble of limbs.

They kiss longer than they normally do, taking their time with each other. Eddie takes off Richie’s shirt slowly, button by button, and kisses all the way down his chest. After a little they’re completely naked, limbs tangled up together.

Eddie feels heady with want. Richie isn’t doing this with anyone else, and it seems like he doesn’t want to be doing this with anyone else. Whatever he feels when he’s with Eddie makes him not want to seek out the company of others, get his rocks off wherever. He trusts Richie, he realizes dizzily. Maybe not trusts him with his life, knows implicitly he’d catch him if he jumped off a cliff trusts him. But he trusts Richie to be honest with him when it matters despite his layers of pretense, to support him if he needs support.

He pulls away from their kissing. “I’d like to fuck you,” he says. “I don’t know if you’re into that at all, and I’ve never done it before, so maybe I won’t be into it, but I’d like to try.”

Richie gapes up at him a little before nodding quickly. “Taking it up the ass has never really been my thing but you know how fond I am of your dick.” 

They both scramble out of their clothes while Eddie rifles through Richie’s bedside drawer. He kisses Richie softly before reaching his hand down between his legs. 

He takes his time getting Richie prepared, even though he knows he isn’t as big as the other man. Richie sighs underneath him, loosening up under Eddie’s ministrations. He closes his eyes while Eddie’s touching him, throwing his head against the pillows and making soft little sounds. Eddie’s done this to other people before but he’s never been so invested, exploring every bit of Richie in anticipation of what comes next. 

Once he’s sufficiently loosened up, Eddie grabs a condom and lines himself up, looking down at Richie. He cots him up with even more lube and pushes forward slowly, feeling Richie squeeze against him. It’s different than getting head, not as warm but so much tighter. 

“Go faster, this isn’t a slow and steady wins the race type of deal, ” Richie says. Eddie glares down at him and pulls out. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he says, and pushes fluidly all the way back into Richie. 

Richie makes a little ‘umph’ sound that trails off to a moan. Without meaning to Eddie gasps. Being all the way inside Richie feels so fucking good, buried so deeply in that he’s completely enveloped. He just stays there for a second, looking down at Richie. Richie’s pupils are blown wide behind his glasses. He’s looking back at Eddie with this open look Eddie’s never seen on his face before, like he trusts Eddie to take care of him, make him feel good. And Eddie wants to. He wants to do to Richie what Richie’s done to him every time they've fucked so far, take him apart and make him feel so full he can barely think.

He pulls back out slowly before pushing his way back in gently. It feels so good and he wants more, wants to feel all of himself totally surrounded by Richie. He feels Richie’s hips press back into the mattress when he takes him all the way in, and he lets out a jerky moan. 

He was worried that fucking someone would feel jerky and awkward, that he wouldn’t be able to get a rhythm going. But he automatically settles into the push and pull of Richie against him, the feeling of their skin on sliding up against each other. He hits somewhere deep inside and Richie lets out a choked scream.

“Fuck, I forgot how good that could feel, God gave us prostrates for a reason.”

“Yeah, but not this one,” Eddie says. He reaches a hand out to stroke Richie’s dick, wrapping his hand around the length. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to keep his rhythm going while jerking Richie off, but found that unlike trying to pat your head and rub your belly there’s a way to incorporate both actions at the same time. 

Eddie’s getting lost in the sensation of Richie, feeling himself go deeper and deeper. He wants more, wants to feel Richie stutter around him while he comes. Richie reaches out with his hands and pulls his hips closer.

“Beam me up Scotty,” he moans. Eddie suddenly stops thrusting, and sits back. “What the fuck did you just say?” he asks.

“Fuck, I was so close, why you gotta be so cruel to me?” Richie whines out.

“Because you just quoted _Star Trek_ in bed. While I’m inside you. What the fuck, Richie.”

“Beam me up means I’m gonna come, okay? Like you’re beaming me up to another level. So will you please go back to fucking me so I can achieve transcendence?”

“You’re fucking insane,” Eddie says, but starts moving over Richie again.

True to his word, Richie doesn’t last long. He comes with a long, drawn out “Fuuuuuck,” clenching around Eddie. Eddie tumbles down after him, burying himself as deeply as possible into Richie, coming so hard it feels like there’s energy shooting through him. He pulls out of Richie and rolls down to the other side of the bed.

Neither of them say anything for a second. Then Eddie breathes out “Goddamn,” not moving from his spot on the pillows.

“Yeah, it's never been like that for me before,” Richie says. “Who knew I had a bottom hidden inside me.”

Eddie pulls the condom off himself-carefully, because it’s the first time he’s ever done this and he really doesn’t want to spill his own jizz on himself. He deposits it in the trash can, and grabs the towel he’s begun to think of as his. “And he retreats to the safety of the showers, as though he can wash himself clean of sin,” Richie says. “Not sin, just your copious amounts of sweat,” Eddie retorts, and goes to the bathroom. 

When he gets back Richie’s changed into boxers and a soft looking t-shirt that says T. REX and has an image of a man riding a tiger on it. He tosses some sleeping clothes to Eddie, and Eddie puts them on, crawling into bed next to Richie. He settles comfortably into Richie’s arms, and Richie strokes his hair. 

After a couple of moments Richie says tentatively, “Was it good for you too? Like, I know you came, but was it good?”

Eddie thinks about any of the snarky comments he could make but doesn’t want to rebuke Richie’s sudden onset of post sex vulnerability. So instead he says, “It was really fucking good.” Richie presses a kiss to the top of his head.

They stay in bed quiet for a moment but Eddie’s not sleepy. He feels a little wired, still not believing that at the ripe age of twenty six he’d finally fucked someone. It wasn’t even a thing he thought he was missing out on. Now he wants to keep doing it, experience sex with Richie in every way possible.

“I didn’t think I’d be good at it,” Eddie says suddenly. “Topping, I mean. I thought I’d try it and just be truly awful, no coordination.”

“Trust me, you really don’t need to be worried. First time I’ve enjoyed getting fucked.” 

Eddie wants to say “Really?” but he doesn't want to seem that praise hungry. Instead he just lets out a happy little hum.

“I didn’t lose my virginity until I was twenty two,” Eddie says without meaning to, and winces. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that, it’s fucking embarrassing, I just feel like I’m behind the curve on some stuff, you know?”

“You can lose your virginity when you’re sixteen and have the exact same type of boring sex your entire life, or you could have sex for the first time at forty and fuck like a maniac until you die of a heart attack from being ridden too hard. It doesn’t matter when you started fucking, just that you fuck like a sex god now.”

Eddie smiles before getting pulled back down into oversharing his past sexual history. “I just didn’t feel comfortable doing stuff for so long,” Eddie says. “Something just felt dirty about it, no matter how much I wanted it, and I was worried about getting sick. My mom used to talk about AIDs transmission rates all the time, and even beyond that there’s every other STD.”

“Your mom sounds like a real bitch,” Richie says.

“Yeah. Yeah, she is,” Eddie says. Feeling like now that he’s started he can’t stop, he continues, “She made me think I was sick when I was a kid.”

“What do you mean?” Richie asks. 

“Like, told me I had all these different things wrong with me, and that I needed to be careful in a way the other kids didn’t. But really, she just didn’t want me doing anything that could take me away from her.”

Richie doesn’t respond for a second. Then he says, “You’re not sick.”

“I know that now,” Eddie responds. “Doesn’t mean I’m not messed up. I’m still a germaphobe, and a hypochondriac, and a chronic worrier.”

“I like those things about you,” Richie says. “It shows you care.” Eddie, flushes, glad Richie can't see him. 

Richie continues to stroke his hair softly. When Eddie doesn’t say anything on he goes on, “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. Like, at all. It’s kinda crazy, how little I think is wrong with you.”

Eddie swallows. He says a little thickly, “Yeah, there’s so many things wrong with you the universe needs to balance it out somehow.”

Richie lets out a huff of laughter. “God, that list could go on forever, I’m a disaster.”

“You know I don’t really mean that,” Eddie says. “Disasters don’t get cast as the lead in shows or live with their best friends who love them. Disasters usually end up dead in dark alleyways much earlier than this.”

“Do you think people are getting knifed down alleys anymore? This isn’t _Taxi Driver_.”

“The point still stands. You have good things in your life, and that doesn’t happen to just anybody.”

Richie doesn’t say anything in response. Then he nestles down closer into the bed, pulling Eddie against his chest. “Who knew you could be so cute and so wise at the same time.”

“I knew, asshole,” Eddie says. “Stop underestimating me.”

“You know I wouldn’t dream of it, my dear Edderoo.”

“What the fuck was that. That’s the worst one yet.”

“Sweet, I’ll toss it into the regular rotation.”

“Would you shut up and let me get to sleep?” Eddie says, closing his eyes.

“I’m yours to command,” Richie says, wrapping one arm around Eddie. When Eddie doesn’t respond he says, “Night, Eds.”

“Night, Rich,” Eddie says sleepily, before getting pulled under.

\----

“Wait, so you’re not having sex with other people now?”

It’s later that week, and he and Bill are making dinner together. Bill’s skills are mostly limited to stir fry so Eddie pulls most of the weight in terms of the spicing and mixing of seasonings, while leaving Bill to chopping and moving onions around a pan.

“I wasn’t having sex with other people before this so it’s kind of a moot point,” Eddie says, retrieving the pieces of chicken he’d put into a bag to marinate earlier. 

“Yeah, but its’ different when you’re making a decision not to have sex with other people.”

“We didn’t come to a formal decision not to have sex with other people. It was really more of an observational thing.”

Bill frowns at him from his place by the stove. “Eddie, that’s not something you just observe. What exactly was the conversation?”

“Well, he said he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else, and I said I wasn’t sleeping with anyone else. And he said ‘nice.’ That’s all.”

Bill furrows his brow. “He said ‘nice’?”

“Yeah, so what?” Eddie says defensively, turning on the breaker next to Bill. 

“That means he’s glad you’re not sleeping with other people. Implying that he doesn’t want you to sleep with other people.”

“Oh, now we’re gonna minutely pick apart every word in a conversation for deeper meaning?”

“I’m just saying, it sounds like you guys agreed to not sleep with anyone else. Which is dating. What you’re doing is dating.”

Eddie blusters. “We’re-what-there’s so many things-I don’t even-”

“Exclusively having sex is dating,” Bill says. “Coupled with the fact you’ve been spending half your nights at his place, and, correct me if I’m wrong, have started keeping work shirts there. That’s dating.” He shifts the rapidly browning onions around the pan.

“We’re not fucking dating!” Eddie says. “Someone has to ask before you’re dating, you can’t start a relationship from one vague conversation on the Subway.”

“Okay, so have another conversation with him.”

“Oh, like it’s that fucking easy? ‘Hey Richie, we’ve been having some kind of ambiguous sex for a couple of weeks and my roommate insists that means we’re dating, so are we together or what?’ And it doesn’t even matter because we can’t date because he’s an actor on my show!”

“The show thing is just an excuse, and you know it. Notice you never said 'I don't want to date him.'”

Eddie aggressively pokes at one of the pieces of chicken in the pan. “I just can’t deal with this now,” he says. “No more Richie talk.”

“Well, then you’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you. Me and Ben have been texting-”

“You and Ben? Richie’s Ben?”

“What other Ben do we know?”

“None, I just don’t understand why you’re texting my-” he stutters a little- “Richie’s roommate.”

“We really hit it off at the party,” Bill says. “He recommended this article about how Gothic architecture influenced horror narratives and we got to talking. He’s really smart.”

“I know he’s really smart, I’ve been having breakfast with him,” Eddie snaps. He’s a little pissed that Ben had been texting his roommate and hadn’t thought to mention it over the coffee they’ve been sharing half the week. He's annoyed at Bill too, but at least Bill's telling him now.

“Well, we were thinking it would be a good idea for all of us to, you know, get together.”

“What do you mean, get together?” Eddie says through clenched teeth.

“You know, our group of friends, their groups of friends, all hanging out. I said we could have it here since they hosted last time. Audra said she barely got a chance to talk to Bev, and Stan said Mike left before they could finish their conversation about-”

“Mike?” Eddie squeezes out. “You fucking invited Mike?”

“Yeah, we all really liked him at the party, thought it would be nice to get to know him more.”

Eddie glares at him. “You didn’t consider how bad of a fucking idea it would be to have the one person who absolutely can’t find out about me and Richie in an intimate gathering where everyone else is in on it?”

“Patty might not know,” Bill says, before frowning a little. “Well, Stan probably told her, but maybe he thought it was beneath him.”

“Shut the fuck up, Bill,” Eddie says. He feels like the room is closing in on him. It’s been hard enough not giving him and Richie away in the rehearsal space, dancing around each other and pretending they don't know what the other one looks like naked, and he really doesn’t need Mike getting a deeper glimpse into his life.

“I’m sorry, Eddie, “ Bill says, soundly genuinely contrite. “I thought it would be a fun excuse for all of us to get together before tech week; I know how stressful that is for you.”

Eddie doesn’t respond that Bill should know what he’d like the most for the weekend before tech is to stay inside all day, poring over his paperwork, maybe have a glass of wine while he watches _You’ve Got Mail_ at the end of the night. He hadn’t envisioned trying to keep his secret not relationship under wraps in front of his director.

“It’ll be fun,” Bill says encouragingly. “Good opportunity to blow off steam.” 

Eddie glares at him, and turns up the breaker on the stove.

\---

Eddie stews for the next several days over the best way to behave at this event. Mike knows he and Richie are friends and have a bickering kind of relationship, so they can keep their banter up. Richie just can’t make any allusions to the fact that they’re fucking. Which Eddie knows Richie would do continually if he let him, because he’d gotten a kick out of the time he’d yelled out to Ben and Bev “See you later, gotta go pound this boy into next week,” and Eddie had turned pink and stammered. He’d let loose at Richie as soon as they got back to his room, which quickly just turned into him pouncing on the other man.

Saturday of their planned party he goes wine shopping. He picks up some beer and some whiskey too, trying to remember everyone's alcohol taste as best he can. He ponders getting appetizers and thinks better of it. They’re not thirty year olds passing around a tray of canapes. They’re still young and reasonably hip and don’t need microwaveable Trader Joe's food.

It’s a pretty small gathering so he doesn’t really need to do anything to the apartment. Still, he frets about the level of light and if there will be enough seating. Bill looks up from his computer as Eddie checks every corner of the living room, straightening picture frames and dusting shelves. “I don’t think the health inspector is coming,” he says.

“It’s good to make a nice impression,” he says. “And an organized house is an organized life.”

“And god forbid you have anything other than an organized life,” Bill says.

It gets closer to party time and Bill puts away his computer. “This is going to be fun,” Bill says. “We’re all gonna chat, get a little drunk, have a good time. Just don’t crawl into Richie’s lap or anything.”

The buzzer goes off and Eddie jumps. He goes to the door and lets whoever's outside in. In a little bit, he hears a series of knocks on the door. He hurries over to open it.

Richie’s standing outside, wearing what is perhaps the ugliest shirt Eddie has ever seen. It’s bright orange (a color that looks good on almost no one, even Richie) and covered in little green parrots.

“That shirt should be burned,” Eddie says. 

“I’m trying to prevent you from getting over excited at this shindig. I know under normal circumstances you can’t resist my good looks and charm, but we have to get through an event without sneaking off to go hook up in the bathroom, and since I’m not capable of displaying that level of self restraint it's up to you. Figured the shirt would help dampen your attraction to me.”

Eddie sighs. “It doesn’t," he admits grudgingly, and Richie smiles. “You know I’m irresistible,” he says, “Now are you gonna invite me in?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Eddie says, moving out of the way of the doorway. “It’s just me and Bill right now.”

“Is Stan coming?” Richie asks, kicking off his shoes. “I’ve been brainstorming some new jokes which I think he’s really gonna hate.”

“Yeah, he’s bringing his wife, Patty,” Eddie says. 

“You weren't kidding about everyone in your life being paired off. To add to the little rows of French school girls holding hands, Ben and Bev are on their way.” 

“Why didn’t you come together?” Eddie asks.

“Wanted just a smidgen of alone time,” Richie says, leaning in to kiss him.

Bill loudly clears his throat from the living room. “Unfortunately, you forgot about the other person who lives in this apartment.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t want you to get in on it, Billiam,” Richie says. “Maybe I’m trying to sweep the household.”

Eddie glares at him. “One, gross, and two, if you try and sleep with my roommate I’ll kill you.”

“You know I only have eyes for you,” Richie says. Bill’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead.

“Can I get you a drink?” Eddie says hurriedly, leading Richie into his kitchen. Once there, he opens the fridge and rummages around. “I got beer,” he says. “I didn’t know what kind you liked so I just took a guess.” Eddie had strained to recall the type of beer Bev had handed Richie the first time he was over but his memory just wasn’t that good. 

“I’ll drink anything, me and the concept of standards are only getting recently acquainted.” Eddie passes him one of the pilsners he got, and Richie digs through his pocket to pop open the top with the bottom of his lighter. Eddie rummages around the fridge for the bottle of white he got and pours himself a glass. He clinks his glass against Richie’s bottle. “Cheers,” Richie says. “To one last glorious relaxing weekend before we go into hell week.”

“How the fuck do you think this is going to be relaxing?” Eddie says. “You have no self control and I’m terrible at hiding my emotions. There’s no way Mike doesn’t know we’re fucking by the end of the night.”

“Would that be the worst thing?” Richie says. “We wouldn’t have to sneak around, I could call you cute in the middle of rehearsal as many times as I wanted to.” He leans in to try and pinch Eddie’s cheek, and Eddie swats his hand away.

“It would be the worst because it would jeopardize our positions on this show, which both of us have worked very hard on. And you should never call someone cute in the rehearsal space because it’s-”

“Unprofessional,” Richie cuts him off. Eddie glares at him.

“Can you keep it in your pants for just one night?”

“As long as it’s not the whole night,” Richie says. “Gotta get my reward at the end of it.”

“Experts think a reward based system isn’t an effective way to incentive good behavior. The motivation has to come from within.”

“I know all about coming within,” Richie says. Luckily, before Eddie can strangle him, he hears the front door open.

“Is he here yet?” Audra calls out. “I wanna grill him before Mike gets here.”

Eddie goes pink and Richie smirks. “He’s here, and you’re not going to grill him!” Eddie yells back. 

Audra emerges into the kitchen. “You’re Audra, right?” Richie asks. “Must’ve missed you at the party somehow. I’m Richie, Eddie’s lover.” Eddie makes a sputtering sound.

“We’ve actually met before, but I’m not sure if you remember,” she says. “You were pretty wasted.”

“Give me some details to go off of,” Richie says. 

“169 Bar, about a year ago, the cast party for _The Bald Soprano_ ; I’m friends with the director. When I showed up you were trying to convince someone to do a body shot off your collarbone.”

“I remember that night a little only because I couldn’t stop making jokes about the name of the bar. I mean, 169, which is hysterical because one can’t sixty nine, you need two to-”

“We get the gist,” Eddie says, cutting him off. 

“You got down on the floor, stared at my feet, and told me with puppies like these I’d go far in this world. Then you tried to get me to take off my shoes.”

Eddie turns to Richie, horrified. “On my god, do you have a foot thing? Because if you try and do anything with my feet I will be out of there so fast you won’t even see me move. Feet are disgusting, they’re sweaty and dirty and-”

“Don’t get yourself worked up, I don’t have a thing for feet,” Richie says. “I just like to see whether or not people have hair on their toes so I can feel less self conscious about my own toe hair. Because almost everyone has toe hair and no one is willing to admit it.”

Audra looks at him. “Sounds like something someone who’s into feet would say.”

“Whatever, even if I was you shouldn’t kink shame.”

Audra moves past him to the fridge. “We have wine, right?” she says, rooting around. 

“In the inside of the door,” Eddie says. 

She grabs the bottle and pours herself a generous glass. She lifts up her glass and they all clink together. “To thrusting Eddie into situations where he doesn’t need to freak out but freaks out anyway,” she says. 

“To thrusting Eddie,” Richie adds.

“You’re on thin fucking ice,” Eddie says. “One more allusion to us having sex and I’ll throw you out.”

“Let me get it out of my system before Mike’s here,” Richie responds. 

They move into the living room and chat with Bill for a little before the buzzer goes off again. Eddie moves over to get it, and grabs the door in a little bit, finding Ben and Bev outside the apartment.

“Hey, Bev, he says, giving her a smile. “Hello, Ben,” he says more coldly. Ben gives him a sheepish smile that melts under Eddie’s glare.

They come inside, and Ben lingers by the doorway. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Bill and I were texting,” he says softly. “I realize now why that makes you feel weird. I just thought it was nice we were all getting along so well. But I’m sorry we sprung this event on you; I should’ve talked to you earlier.”

Eddie feels his irritation leave him. It’s hard to be made at earnest, gentle Ben, who’s just trying to make friends with people he likes. Eddie can't really hold it against him.

“It’s fine,” he says, leading them into the living room. “Probably good for Bill to have someone to talk to about books with, because I never know what the fuck he’s saying.” Ben still looks worried, and Eddie smiles at him. “Seriously Ben, I’m glad you and Bill are getting along. I think he’s a great guy, and it’s not fair for me to be weird about it.” 

“Thanks, Eddie,” Ben says, smiling at him, and they head to the living room to join the circle of their friends.

Stan and Patty join them, adding to their growingly boisterous group. Mike arrives a little bit later, and Eddie feels his tension level spikes up, beginning to avoid interacting with Richie directly. But he can’t help but listen to his stories and get drawn in to interject and call Richie out when he makes too outlandish of a claim.

People seem to move in easy conversation with one another. Richie and Stan appear to have really struck a groove, while Aurda and Bev chat happily, Bev sitting in Ben’s lap propped up against his chest. 

“Oh, I wasn’t cool at all in high school,” Bev’s saying. “Everyone thought I was a slut, and I didn’t really have friends. My dad was the janitor, and everyone got a real laugh out of that. I couldn’t wait to be out of there.”

“Didn’t you like growing up in New York?” Audra asks.

“Yeah, that was the only bearable part. I’d finish school and take the train to midtown and go through all of the fabric and textile stores, picking swatches up. You can’t get some of that stuff anywhere else in the world.”

“I grew up in LA,” Audra says. “Went to a performing arts high school. Socially, I did . . . fine.”

“You were cool, I just know it,” Bev says, taking a swig of her beer.

Audra shrugs. “I know how to play the game. But that’s all bullshit anyway.”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Bev says. “You must be the exception to popular people in high school staying cool as adults.” 

“Thank you, I’ve actually gotten even cooler,” Audra says, and Bev laughs.

“What were you like in high school, Ben?” Audra asks. 

“Also deeply uncool,” Ben says. “I was the new kid throughout all of high school somehow, and I was chubby until I lost a bunch of weight senior year and got attractive.”

“You were always attractive,” Bev says, leaning back to press a cheek to his jaw. Ben smiles down at her, blushing. 

“Hey, I was cool in high school!” Richie chimes in. “I was always a hit at parties.”

“No way you were cool,” Stan says.

“Sure, for the first three years people might have bullied me mercilessly, but I assumed the noble position of jester by the end of my time there.” Richie says. "Everyone loves the funny guy.” 

“I just don’t accept that you were popular,” Stan says.

“You’re just jealous because I can tell you were the stick up your ass type who sat next to the teachers on bus rides.”

“Teenagers get rowdy,” Stan says. 

“Can we not talk about high school?” Eddie says. “I’m getting war flashbacks.”

“Hard to imagine you weren't the most coveted figure on the property,” Richie says. Eddie glares at him, trying to communicate ‘Keep a lid on it.’ 

“I was not cool,” Eddie says. “I fucking did theater tech, do you think there was a single popular kid who wanted to run around and change light bulbs?”

“In the adult world theater people are the coolest of the cool.” Richie turns to Mike. “What about you, Mikey? I can see you striding around the hallway, pretty girl on each arm.”

“I was homeschooled, so I didn’t really have a chance to be cool or uncool. But the other kids in town . . . didn't like me.” Something troubled and pained flashes over Mike’s face for a second before it’s gone. “So I have no cool credentials.”

“I had a stutter,” Bill adds. “Until I was sixteen or so. People used to literally call me Stuttering Bill, which has to be the laziest insult in the history of insults. So I also wasn’t cool.”

Richie lifts his hand up. “Everyone who got made fun of in high school raise their hands.” Everyone but Patty and Audra raises their hands. Stan looks at Patty. “I wasn’t cool,” she says defensively. “I just wasn’t uncool. I kept my head down, I got good grades, I was invited to some parties.”

“Yeah, you’re not included in this,” Richie says. He puts his hand down and raises his beer bottle. “To all of the losers gathered here today.” The seven of them take a drink, and even though Eddie was dreading this party there’s something that feels right having this group around him, hearing their conversations and adding in his own bits.

They keep going into the night, getting later and looser. Bev pulls out a joint, and she looks at Eddie questioningly, waiting for his assent before she lights it. He doesn’t usually let people smoke in the apartment, but he nods at her; all of his usuallys have been thrown out the window. When the joint reaches him he hits it, feeling the extra boost to his system from the weed. At one point Richie commandeers the sound system and puts on some New Wave playlist he swears he’s carefully cultivated to be the ideal party music. Bev pulls up Ben to dance, and they spin around the room, hopping around and then coming back together. Bill and Audra join and they switch partners, Bill laughing at something Bev says while Ben lets Audra try and teach him how to waltz. 

Richie comes over to Eddie and holds out a hand. “Join me on the dance floor Eddie Spaghetti, let me spin you under the stars.”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie says. He wouldn't dance with Richie even if Mike wasn’t here. He’s not especially coordinated, and gets a little self-conscious whenever he’s forced to dance. 

“I need to dance right now, you’ve gotta quit denying me,” Richie says. Eddie flashes back to the last time he denied Richie something, Richie underneath him in bed while Eddie kept taking him to the edge and pulling him back. He hopes the memory doesn’t show too clearly on his face.

“Go ask Stan,” he says.

Stan doesn’t even look up from his conversation with Mike. “No,” he says. 

“You gotta dance with me, don’t you have any soul?” Richie says, dropping his knees. Eddie swallows. Richie getting into this position is the last thing he needs.

“Just let your feet go, stop being such a mood killer,” Richie says.

Eddie glares at him. “If I dance with you will you stop bugging me?”

“You have my absolute, faithful word,” Richie says. He gets to his feet then hauls Eddie up. Eddie has to work extra hard on catching his balance so he doesn’t fall into Richie's arms.

Once he’s gotten him up, Richie starts dancing almost immediately. He’s just as uncoordinated as Eddie, all flailing limbs and bobbing head movements. He does this little shimmy thing with his arms, reaches out and twirls Eddie around, almost throwing him off balance. Eddie can’t help but laugh.

There's nothing weird about two friends dancing together. It’s not like he and Richie are grinding; they’re barely even touching, Richie occasionally catching Eddie’s hands to do a little slide. Dancing is one of those things Eddie doesn’t really let himself enjoy, but he feels free with Richie as a partner. 

They all tire themselves out eventually and collapse on the floor. Audra, in an uncharacteristic display of public affection, nestles under Bill’s arm. They keep talking as the night winds down, sharing anecdotes and dissolving into laughter over random stories.

Stan and Patty are the first to head out, both of them calling out goodbyes as Bill walks them to the door. Bev and Ben can’t leave before Mike because it would look incredibly suspicious if they went back to Brooklyn without Richie. So they all spill out on the floor, talking and laughing. Eddie can’t shake off the nerves that the shrinking of their group has brought upon him, less room to ignore Richie’s presence. 

Eddie’s nervous to have Richie share his space and spend the night. He really doesn’t like to take people back to his bedroom, preferring to keep it his own sanctum. He almost can’t imagine Richie in there, his chaos introduced into Eddie’s neat order. 

They talk pleasantly for a while until Mike stretches out. “Time for me to go,” he says. “Ben, Bev, Richie, wanna take the train together?”

“We’re gonna stay a little longer,” Bev responds. “I’ve almost finished off that six pack and you know I’m not a quitter.”

Mike laughs his easy laugh. “Here, I’ll walk you out,” says Eddie, scrambling up.

He walks Mike to the front door and prepares to say his farewells, but Mike opens it, and gestures him out into the hallway. “Can we talk?” he says, and Eddie’s heart starts beating like a bass drum in his chest. He steps out into the hallways, leaving the door cracked behind him.

“What’s up?” he says nervously.

“I know about you and Richie,” Mike says.

Eddie swallows hard. He feels like his heart rate just shot up to astronomical levels, pushing blood through his body at what should be inhuman speeds.

“How?” he asks. 

“It’s just clear that something changed at some point,” Mike says. 

Eddie’s worst fear is folding out in front of him, his indiscretion exposed to someone he wants to think well of him.

“I want you to be happy,” Mike says. “I really do. But I also want this show to be good, because I’ve worked my ass off on it and I know you have too. Don’t let whatever's going on between you two get in the way of making this production be the best it can be, because I don’t want my show-our show-to fall apart over relationship drama. You just can’t keep letting yourself get distracted, because we’re opening this show in a week in front of an audience, and it’s on you to make sure it runs smoothly. And I know you can do it, I know how good your work is, but you have to keep your eye on the ball.”

Eddie wants the floor to swallow him. All he can do is nod. 

Mike’s eyes soften. “As your friend and not your director, I think you guys are really good together,” he says.

Eddie doesn’t know how to respond. So instead he just says numbly, “Goodnight Mike, get home safe,” and goes back inside his apartment.

He stands in the entryway for a minute, hands shaking. Mike knows. Mike knows because he’s been repeatedly sloppy an, letting his personal life reach into the rehearsal space. He’d been called out on what he’d been ignoring the truth of; that he isn’t as good of a stage manager while working with Richie because he’s distracted more often than not. Maybe it wouldn't be like this forever (and what’s Eddie doing thinking about forever?) but right now it’s so fresh and recent that he can’t ignore the feeling of wanting Richie. 

He pushes his overwhelming anxiety down and heads back to the gathering. Everyone looks comfortable and happy, taking over the couches now that they’re open. Eddie takes the spot next to Bill, ignoring the space next to Richie. 

“I think we’re going to head out in a bit too,” says Bev. “Give Mike enough time so we’re not on the same train, then we’ll bounce. I’m gonna go pee.”’ She gets up and looks at Bill. “Second door on the right,” he says, and Bev heads down the hallways. Ben gets up and starts collecting the empty cups and glasses.

“Ben, don’t you dare,” says Eddie, getting up. “You’re a guest in our apartment.” He grabs what Ben’s collected from his hands and heads towards the kitchen, happy to distract himself with something.

“I’ll help,” Richie offers, and picks up the rest of the bottles, following Eddie.

Eddie deposits his cargo on the counter and turns to face Richie. “So, am I about to see your bedroom?” Richie says excitedly. “The final stop on the tour?”

“I think you should go home with Bev and Ben,” Eddie says. “I’m really tired from entertaining all night and I’m just going to pass out.” He’s not a very good liar but he does his best to sound convincing.

Richie’s smile fades. “Oh. Are you sure?” he asks. “I could rub your back.”

“And then one thing would lead to another,” Eddie says. “You should go home. We both need to get rest for this week.”

Richie looks disappointed for a second before he seems to shake himself off. “Whatever my Edwardo desires,” he says, smiling a too wide smile. 

Eddie feels bad. He shouldn’t keep this from Richie; it’s not fair to not let him in on this new piece of information, this revelation of Mike's knowledge. But he's about five seconds away from completely freaking out and he doesn't want Richie to be there for that, doesn't want to hear Richie's false assurances that he's not a fuck up. 

Richie puts the bottles he’s carrying on the counter. “I’ll go grab them before they head,” he says, and leaves the kitchen. Eddie stays in there for a moment before he follows. 

Richie’s already started putting his shoes on by the time he gets to the door. “Your hospitality is immaculate,” he’s saying to Bill. “Top notch. Truly exemplary.”

“Come back over some time,” Bill says.

“Yeah, I hope so,” Richie responds. He blows a kiss to Eddie “See you very soon, my Eddie-kins,” he says.

“I can't wait till the day you run out of nicknames,” Eddie says.

Richie smiles back at him a little wistfully. “Never gonna happen.'' Then he follows Ben and Bev out the door and he’s gone.

Bill rounds on Eddie immediately. “Richie isn’t staying the night,” he states. “Did something happen between you two?”

Eddie feels the panic he’s been controlling for the last ten minutes start to burble over inside of him. “Mike knows,” he says. “Mike knows, he knows we’re fucking, and he fucking knows that’s why I’ve been sloppy, and I have been sloppy, I have been Bill, I don’t know how I could have been such an idiot-”

Bill’s striding across the room to him. Putting his arms on his shoulders. “Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he says, brilliant blue eyes looking into Eddie’s. “Eddie, you’re okay.”

Eddie feels his panic attack rising in him like a glass with more and more water being poured into it, but he tries to level out. He closes his eyes and attempts to slow his breathing, feeling the reassuring weight of Bill’s hands on his shoulders, grounding him to something. “I fucked up, Bill,” he whispers. “I don’t know how I could have been so stupid.”

“You’re not stupid,” Bill says. “You’ve been handling this fine. You’re allowed to not be perfect at your job.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, not believing him.

“Sleep it off, you’ll feel better in the morning,” Bill says. "There's nothing you can do about this right now."

“You’re right,” Eddie says. He feels his panic congeal and settle in his stomach like a weight, radiating throughout his chest. “Go find Audra,” he says.

“You sure you’re okay?” Bill asks.

Eddie’s not okay, but there’s nothing else Bill can do. So he tells him somewhat truthfully, “I’m heading towards okay.” He can’t really get less okay at this point. 

Bill tugs him in for a hug, then heads down the hallway. Eddie just stares at the living room. He wants to berate himself, to pore over every action that might have given him away and think about what he should have done differently, but he knows if he gives into that impulse the panic will surge in this throat until he chokes on it. So instead he goes to bed and tries to fall asleep. But he can’t stop thinking about his indiscretion, remembering every moment he was looking at Richie instead of watching the action on the stage, every typo he made in an email because he was dashing it off so he could fuck Richie. He thought he could just mess around with him and there would be no consequences, but when had there not been consequences in Eddie’s life? That’s why he took all the necessary precautions, and yet he’s still here. Because this is what happens when you let yourself lose sight of the bigger picture. 

He spirals down, not even his rain sounds able to pull him out of his own head, until he exhausts himself and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't be too mad at Mike; he's just got a vision he's trying to follow.
> 
> I feel like Ben and Bill never got the chance to hang out with each other enough because in canon they have this tension over Bev, but I see them having a really strong friendship


	9. the lovers would tear pieces off it as they passed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie and Eddie deal with the consequences

Eddie spends all of Sunday immersed in his paperwork, ignoring thinking what his next move is or confronting the reality of what it’s going to be like in the room tomorrow by instead crafting every detail he has control over. He pores over his spreadsheets meticulously, cross checking all of his different documents about prop placement and scenic tracking. 

Bill, remorseful over the unintended consequences of the party, is scrupulously kind to Eddie the whole day, bringing him coffee and making him dinner, even if it’s just pasta and vegetables. He convinces him to take breaks, and lets him talk through the moments in his head he’s still trying to work out. When Eddie goes to bed on Sunday night, he feels as good as possible under the circumstances. He knows he should tell Richie that Mike knows about them, but he just wants to get through this one day before he has that conversation. He doesn’t know what he wants to say or what the outcome of that talk will be, and he wants to put that off for as long as possible, cowardly as that is. 

Tech is eight hours, and Eddie has to be there two hours before all the actors. It’s their first time working in the performance space; he gets there early and checks in with the technical director, looking over the progress that’s been made with load in this morning. He meets with the designers, going over lighting and sound cues. He feels better being in his element than he did all weekend; there’s a rhythm to this and he’s good at this, he knows he’s good at this. This is his show, and tech is the time he takes more and more control, gets acquainted with the different design elements and lighting shifts and blood splatters until he can string them together into a coherent piece. Things seem to be in pretty good shape, which calms him down further. There’s the small fires to put out, but he feels like everything is relatively in order.

The actors start trickling in, but they’re a minute away from the hour, and Richie isn’t there yet. Eddie hopes he’s not pulling some shit in an attempt to be cute, because even if the Mike ringer hadn’t been thrown into consideration (not that Richie knows about that), tech would not be the time for it.

But it’s five minutes later and Richie still isn’t there. Eddie pulls out his phone and texts him. 

**Hey, what’s your ETA?**

Richie doesn’t respond for a minute, then he says

_sorry gotta deal with some shit_

Eddie frowns. What the fuck.

He texts him back and says, 

**Okay, but what’s your ETA?**

Five more minutes pass, and Richie still hasn’t responded. Eddie sees Mike looking at him. He’s good enough at reading him by now that he knows Mike’s asking ‘where’s Richie?’ So he shrugs his shoulders, indicates his phone, and gets up to go out into the hallway. 

He shuts the door firmly behind him and calls Richie. It goes straight to voicemail. He’s beginning to panic and fume simultaneously, anger warring with anxiety until there’s a building crescendo in his head. 

He goes back inside and pulls Mike to the side. Every part of him is screaming out with shame that he has to have this conversation but this is the web he wove for himself. So he says quietly, “Richie’s running late and he won’t give me a solid ETA.”

Mike looks at him. “He won’t tell you when he’s coming?”

“No, he’s not picking up,” Eddie says. “I know he’s not dead because he texted me but he’s refusing to answer his phone.”

“Do you want me to try calling him?” Mike asks.

Eddie wants to snap ‘Why the fuck would he pick up for you when he didn’t pick up for me?’ but he can’t say shit like that. So instead he tells him, “Go for it.” 

Mike pulls out his phone and rings Richie. It goes straight to voicemail for him too. “I’m going to give him five more minutes and then I’m just going to get us started,” says Eddie. 

He can’t process this right now. If this was any other actor he would have freaked out for a moment, then taken a deep breath and accepted this turn of events, re-scheduled and re-worked, took charge and kept everyone else on track. But all he wants to do is run out of the room and berate himself. This was exactly what Riley had warned him about hooking up with actors. He needs to be distant from this situation but he’s mad, beyond the anger he feels professionally. 

He texts Richie again.

**Where the fuck are you?**

He gets no response. 

Soon it’s fifteen past the hour and Eddie has a tech to run. He gives his opening speech, laying out the schedule and giving his version of a pep talk, and gets them set off into costume and makeup. He calls Richie again. Straight to voicemail. 

He gets his mind off of his absence by doing the necessary prep work, setting up his spot at the tech table and checking the comm line. There’s so many moving pieces to a show and Eddie needs to be thinking about all of them at once, not the one missing piece that’s currently driving him into a panic. He touches base with all the designers reassure himself that they’re in a good place for top of show, making sure everyone has a pencil and a bottle of water.

The actors all emerge in costume and makeup like he told them to. He’s doing his best to hide his personal annoyance and move through the day as if nothing is amiss, but he has to make some kind of statement. “Richie’s been held up,” he says. “He’s not in Scene 1, so we can start from there and re-asses at the end. Places for top of show!” he says, and everyone scurries away.

He settles down at his tech table. He has his script directly in front of him, little colored tabs marking the cues. He has his computer set open to the side so he can take notes. He’s got extra sticky notes, pencils, pens, erasers, and highlighters. He’s got spike tape and gaff tape and he’s been working so hard on this and he’s not going to let Richie ruin it for him. So he sits on his chair, slides his headset on and says, “Checking in on comm, can you hear me?” He gets affirmation from the lighting and sound designers, and tells them to start rolling in cue one.

Even though he feels like he’s failed as a stage manager in some deep way during this process, he knows he’s good at this part of it. He calls hold when the lighting designer needs to increase the intensity of the lamps, gently moves Mike along when he gets too caught up in talking to the actors. He’s given up on trying to reach Richie, instead just letting tech continue as normally as possible.

They get through the first scene and it’s good, he’s happy with it, but now they’re at the second scene and they need Richie there so they can see what he looks like in the light. “Someone could stand in for him?” the lighting designer suggests, and Eddie says through gritted teeth, “He’s too tall for that to work.” So they move past it, going on to the next scene without Richie in it. Eddie knows it’s going to be a pain to have to create those cues after having already built on them. They can’t practice the scenic change because they need Richie to bring out some of the pieces he uses. So Eddie resets for Scene 3 manually, pushing off benches out and wrangling with a bicycle.

They’re past two hours into tech when the door bursts open. Eddie doesn’t turn his head around. He doesn’t even have to look to know who would make such a sound. 

Richie makes his way inside the room. He’s out of breath, rushing over himself. Everyone in the room has stopped what they're doing to stare at him. He spies Eddie at his tech table and heads straight over there. “Eddie, I’m sorry, I swear I can-” he starts, But Eddie cuts him off.

“Go get into costume,” he says, not even looking at him. “When you come back you can jump in where we’re at.” He wants to scream at Richie but he’s conscious of the attention of everyone else in the room.

They keep going, working through cue by cue until Richie emerges and they throw him on stage. Eddie doesn’t look at him, keeping his eyes glued on his script, and turning away from the front when they call for hold. He feels a little itch underneath his skin but he’s able to ignore it, moving them through the show with as few disturbances as possible.

Eddie calls for break, and all the actors dissipate. He heads over towards Mike, and says in a low voice, “I’m going to go talk to Richie.” Mike gives him a long, serious look, and then just nods at him, and in that nod Eddie knows he’s saying he trusts him to handle it, trusts him to make things right, even though Eddie’s shown no evidence he can do that. He feels a deep well of shame for how he’s let Mike down throughout this process by letting his libido get in the way of his work.

He makes his way backstage and knocks on the dressing room door. Ian opens the door and he says “Can you ask Richie to come out here?” Ian nods, looking scared, and calls back into the room. Richie steps out the door still in costume, stage makeup throwing his face into strange relief. He looks different without his glasses, his face opened up. He closes the door behind him.

“Eds, I can explain-”

“Do not fucking call me Eds!” he yells, and he’s so furious he can barely see. “You were over two hours late! Two! That’s not ‘I missed the train late,’ or ‘I left my wallet at home,’ late, two hours is ‘I’m deliberately not there’ late. If you left when I texted you what your ETA was, when you were already late, you would have been forty five minutes late. But you weren’t, you were somehow even later than the already insanely late time you could have been. Do you just not give a shit? Because if you gave a shit you would’ve at least tried to show up on time, or given me the barest estimate of when you were going to make it. But no, you couldn’t even be bothered to pick up your phone. So I don’t want to hear whatever your excuse is because it’s probably bullshit.”

When Eddie finishes he takes a breath, realizing he was probably loud enough for everyone on the other side of the dressing room door to have heard him. He feels embarrassed; he didn’t want to chew Richie out so publicly. He’d been meaning to walk him somewhere quieter, but the second he called him Eds, like he still had that privilege, he set Eddie off so badly that he just couldn’t hold it back. 

Richie’s face had gone blanker and blanker during Eddie’s speech. He’s looking at him now like somebody drained all emotion from behind his eyes until Eddie barely recognizes him. 

“Understood,” he says in this voice Eddie doesn’t know, and he goes back into the dressing room. Eddie stands there for a minute before he goes back to his tech table.

He’s angry at Richie but he’s also mad at himself. He’d trusted Richie to take things that mattered seriously and he was proving he wasn’t capable of that. He’s a self absorbed actor who thought he was above the rules and he always would be, and Eddie had been stupid enough to fall for his bullshit. 

Eddie’s had techs where they hadn’t made it through the first five pages in eight hours, techs where midway though the day the director decided to entirely re-block a scene. He had techs that had gone so badly, designers storming out in the middle of runs and people tripping off the stage and injuring themselves, he’d almost cried and quit theater forever. But nothing had felt worse than this. He doesn’t want to be here, he just wants to go home. But now more than ever, he needs to prove to Mike he can do this. So he takes his rage at Richie, squashes it into a tight little ball, and gets back to work. 

They go over each scene beat by beat, pausing to adjust sound levels for the gunshots and to note where different props end up when the tracking is put into practice. He has all the answers, keeps them moving throughout the process, but Eddie doesn’t want to be here. He doesn’t want to look at Richie on the stage, standing still while they hold to adjust the lighting, looking blankly at nothing.

When they finish up for the day Eddie is exhausted. He sits next to Mike while he goes over notes, and lingers afterwards to talk with him and the designers about the plan for tomorrow. They come up with something solid, and everyone dissipates. Mike stays to sit beside him. Anticipating what he’s going to say, Eddie says, “The thing with Richie is handled. He won’t be late again and he knows it was a big deal he was so late today.” He doesn’t want to acknowledge his personal stake in the matter and he hopes Mike doesn’t bring it up. Mike, thankfully, gives him a break and just nods, and gets up. “Thanks for a smooth process,” he says. “Considering the start of the day, we got back on track pretty easily. Get some rest; I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you then,” Eddie says, and locks up for the night.

He goes backstage to check things out. All the actors have left, costumes hung up on the racks with labels attached. He didn’t really expect Richie to stay after that, and he doesn’t even want to see him, but it feels very empty without him there to fill up the silence.

He takes the train all the way home. He didn’t get a chance to talk to Richie about Mike knowing, but does it even matter now? He wasn’t sure where they were going to go from there before this all happened, and now it feels like whatever was between him and Richie has fractured irreparably. They’d moved from being whatever they were back to a stage manager mad at his late actor. Maybe that’s all they ever were, just with some sex added on the side.

When he gets home Bill is watching TV. When Bill hears the door open, he screams. Eddie comes in and sees him rapidly clicking the off button on the remote.

“What are you doing?” Eddie says suspiciously.

“I thought you wouldn’t be home tonight,” Bill says, trying to appear unflustered. “Why aren’t you at Richie’s?”

“Are you watching porn in the living room? I swear to god Bill-” Eddie lunges for the remote and Bill tries to push him away. Eddie throws himself across the couch and grabs it from him, turning on the TV. When the screen is back on he pauses for a second then bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god, _Golden Girls_? You’re fucking watching _Golden Girls_?”

Bill goes pink. “They’re all very charming, okay? There’s a lot of great one liners.”

 _‘What are you, a Grandma fucker?’_ says a voice in his head that sounds like Richie, and Eddie laughs harder. He feels this immense release of tension from the past eight hours. He’s laughing out of control, shoulders jerking up and down. He’s a little close to tears, he realizes, laughing so hard that there’s moisture gathering at the corners of his eyes.

Bill is looking at him with what he realizes is concern. “Eddie, are you okay?” he asks. “Did you and Richie talk about the Mike thing?”

“Tech was just stressful, okay?” Eddie says, and pushes himself up. “I have to go answer emails.” He almost misses yesterday when having to tell Richie their director knew they were sleeping together was the worst thing that was happening. 

"Do you want to talk about it?" asks Bill. 

"No," Eddie says, retreating into his room. 

He completes his tech report and sends it out, going over his inbox until he’s sure there’s nothing left. When he gets into bed all he sees behind his eyes is Richie’s shuttered face looking at him.

\----

Even though Eddie’s not going into work he still gets up early. He likes the time to get prepared in the morning, to sit and have his coffee at what he would call a leisurely pace and Bill would call ‘not drinking caffeine like he’ll die without it.’

Bill’s already in the kitchen when he gets up. They move around, pulling together their separate breakfasts with limited exchanges. They’re eating together when Bill says, “Ben texted me.”

“That’s nice,” Eddie says blandly. 

“He says that Richie came home really upset about something.”

“Hmm,” Eddie says, tuning all his attention to his yogurt. 

“And you were clearly upset too when you came home last night. So I’m guessing something happened.” 

“If you’re texting Ben you must know all about it,” Eddie snipes. “Why aren’t you the one keeping me updated?”

“You don’t need to be rude,” Bill says. 

“I’m not being rude, I just don’t need you discussing my relationship with Richie behind my back.”

“I’m trying to help you deal with this now, to get ahead of whatever's going on between you two before you go back into tech,” Bill says. “Your day is going to be shitty if you don’t face this now.”

“My day is going to be shitty no matter what I do,” says Eddie, and glares at Bill. He doesn’t want Bill nosing into this because it’s not personal, it’s his job, and Bill doesn’t have a right to comment on it. Bill glares back. “Why are you acting like a child?” he asks.

“Because everyone in theater acts like a fucking child and maybe it’s my turn! Because what fucking right does Richie have to be upset? What, upset at me? Like I’m the one who was two fucking hours late to tech. Fuck that. He can be upset all he wants, it doesn’t change shit.” 

Bill looks at him levelly. “You’re allowed to be angry but you should talk to him.”

“I don’t want to hear anything he has to say.”

“Do you really think Richie would show up that late without a good reason?”

“There’s no good reason for being that late, unless you’re gravely injured, which he clearly wasn’t.”

“Like there’s nothing you wouldn’t miss tech for? An emergency?”

“No, there isn’t!” Eddie yells. “Because it’s my goddamn job and people are relying on me and I just fucking thought I could rely on him!”

“Can't you be a little flexible for once in your life?”

“No, I can’t,” Eddie says. He grabs the rest of his yogurt and his coffee and goes back into his room to finish getting ready for the day.

\-----

The second day is going smoothly as well but Eddie feels just as bad, if not even worse, than yesterday. His anger has ebbed from him, and his conversation with Bill is rattling around in his mind.

Richie’s ten minutes early but he doesn’t even acknowledge Eddie when he walks into the room. He talks to all the other actors while they wait for Eddie to give them the plan for the day. When Eddie has them all gathered Richie won’t look at him, gazing off to a point to his left.

The other actors seem even more wary of Eddie today. He knows all of them must have heard, or heard about, what he said to Richie yesterday. Looking back over his words, he’d been harsh. He’s said worse things to people who’ve disappointed him or fucked up but he’s never cared about any of them before. And he cares about Richie, and now he feels this ugly spot in the center of him over Richie being hurt, especially since he was the one who did the hurting. Which was why he’d never should have come to care for Richie in the first place, because it made it harder for him to hold him accountable. Out of his own insecurity about his work he’d taken out his anxiety over Mike’s warning out on Richie. Maybe Richie fucked things up by being late but it wasn’t until Eddie had told him off that the energy between them had felt wrecked instead of just tense.

Richie does his work well, as usual. They finished cue to cue yesterday, and they’re doing their first tech run of the show. Mike asks all the actors to engage fully even though they’d be stopping and starting so much, and everyone is giving it their all, including Richie. He’s incredible on stage, hitting his marks and his beats like there’s a full audience hanging on his every word. It hurts Eddie to look at him. He won’t do it directly, only catching him out of the corners of his eye, or when he’s sure his back is turned to him.

He keeps everyone relentlessly on task for the first four hours of the day. He even manages to fill up his lunch break with projects, helping the designer refocus lights. But there's a steady thrum of unhappiness in the back of his head. He had become so attuned to Richie’s energy that it feels like there’s something wrong being in the room with him and so cut off from him. He thinks about Ben saying Richie was upset. Richie was surely mad at him too, even though he had less of a right to be.

But he’s realizing he was too hot headed in not hearing what Richie had to say. He’d jumped to the worst possible conclusion, that Richie was just fucking around, but, despite his jokes about being a mess, he didn’t really do that, at least not recently. Had Richie ever let him down, really? He was late but he stopped when Eddie asked him to shape up. He forgot his script one time and never again. He learned his lines, he took his notes seriously. When had he ever really fucked up before?

Eddie feels more and more mired as the day goes on. Knowing he won’t get a response for a while, he still pulls out his phone and texts Richie while they’re holding for sound.

**Hey, can we talk when we’re done for the night?**

he sends.

He can see Richie in front him onstage without his phone so he doesn’t expect a response. During their next break Richie disappears backstage, and a little while later Eddie’s phone buzzes. Richie’s said

_yeah_

They make it through a full tech run of the show, and they go back and work moments the designers flagged as incomplete. They grind through, picking apart the minutiae of the scenes until they’re sharp. Eddie, still conscious of Mike’s words, throws himself into the process, keeping everyone on task and remembering the little details people toss out. He’s relieved he’s able to lose himself in his work like this. He feels anxiety building in the back of his head over the prospect of what he’s going to say to Richie, but he’s spent most of his life sublimating his unpleasant thoughts into working hard; he can manage it for the next two hours.

They finish for the night, Mike giving his notes and Eddie staying to discuss with the designers about the plan for the next day. All of the actors head backstage to get out of costume and makeup. They leave one by one, the crew calling out farewells. Eddie tells everyone he needs to stay and reset the stage, and that he'll lock up after himself. Eventually he’s alone in the space. 

He peeks his head backstage and knocks on the dressing room door. Richie emerges, and shuts it behind him. 

“I don’t want to talk in there, the lights make my head hurt,” he says. So they go back into the theater. A couple of chairs have been pulled out into the audience seating, so they grab two of the stray ones Mike uses to watch the show from different vantage points. They sit down and a thick silence hangs over them.

“I need to apologize,” Eddie says. “I was too harsh yesterday. I got upset that even after all we’ve talked about, how I thought we were on the same page, you were still late, so I assumed the worst. And that wasn’t fair of me. Like, I’m still pissed you were so late, but I at least should have heard you out as to why. So I’m sorry.”

Richie doesn’t respond for a moment. Then he says, “Okay,” in a flat voice. 

They sit in silence again. It isn’t awkward, just deeply unhappy. After what feels like an eternity Eddie says. “So why were you late?”

“Are you asking as my stage manager or as my friend?” Richie asks.

Eddie winces a little at the word ‘friend’. “Both, I guess,” he says.

Richie’s silent for a moment longer. Then he says, “Bev’s dad is a real piece of shit.” In response to Eddie’s questioning look he says, “No, I swear, this is going somewhere.” Eddie nods. He’s trying to trust Richie in this moment.

“So, Alvin Marsh, truly the worst of the worst. He . . . hurt Bev, when she was young.” Something dark flashes across Richie’s face, an expression Eddie has never seen on it before. “When she graduated high school she cut all contact with him, disappeared into the city. He’s not every tech savvy so he didn’t know how to find her via the internet or anything. He’s never been able to track her down, we thought she was safe. But somehow he got a hold of her info. He called her yesterday morning, saying he was going to find her and come for her and punish her for not staying to take care of him like a good daughter should. Bev’s strong, you know she’s strong as shit, but she got scared. Ben had already left for work; we called him, but he must’ve been in a meeting because he didn’t pick up. So I stayed with her, trying to figure out where her dad might be and how he found her, deciding if we needed to get out of the apartment or if he was waiting outside the building for her to come out. I was so fucking anxious that he was going to show up and try and break down the door, because I didn’t know if I could protect her. We got a hold of Ben eventually, and he left work immediately and came back to the apartment to stay with her. I left for tech when he got home.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything and Richie fills in the silence.“I just couldn’t leave her. She didn’t ask me to stay, she’d never do that, but I couldn’t fucking leave her on her own, just waiting for her psychopathic dad to show up. So that’s why I was so late.” He says the last part a little bitterly.

Eddie sits there stunned. He thinks about Bev, fiery, bright Bev, and what she had to escape from and stand up to. And Richie, scared to fight off a terrible presence but staying anyway, because he was that kind of person.

“Richie, I’m so sorry,” he says. “I’m so fucking sorry I reacted like that.”

“It just felt like shit that you wouldn’t even hear me out, you know? Like, you assumed that I would blow this off just because. I thought you knew me better than that by now.”

“I do. I do know you better. I just . . . doubted.”

“You’re the one who told me I wasn’t a fuck up. And then you treated me like a fuck up.”

“I should’ve trusted you,” Eddie says. “I’ve just been feeling like I’m shit at my job, and that I’m not doing well, and if anyone else had shown up that late I would have treated them the exact same way, I might even have said worse things, but I shouldn’t have done that to you. I just spent all of Sunday feeling bad, and I let it get to me.”

“Why were you feeling bad?” Concern flashes across Richie’s face.

“Because Mike knows about us,” Eddie admits. “He told me when he left on Saturday night. And he basically told me I needed to shape the fuck up because being involved with you makes me worse at my job. And now I just don’t know what to do.”

“You haven't been worse at your job,” Richie responds. 

“Yeah, I have,” Eddie responds. “All I wanna do after rehearsal is hang out with you so I don’t get any work done, and I can’t stop watching you when you’re on stage. A good stage manager should pay attention to all of their actors, be fully engaged in the room. And I’m not when you’re here.”

“No one can be constantly giving their all to every part of a show. Nothing major has gotten fucked up, and lots of stage managers who aren’t sleeping with their actors can’t manage that. I’ve been pretty miserable this whole tech and I still think it’s going better than ninety percent of the techs I’ve been in.”

“Thank you,” Eddie says sincerely. It feels nice to be validated in what he hoped was true: that he was managing to turn things around.

They’re quiet for another moment until Richie says in a small voice, “So what do you want to do? About this? Us, I guess.”

Eddie looks down. He’s been thinking about this for the past three days and he still doesn’t have an answer. Before this conversation, he would have said the smart and right thing to do would be to just cut things off with Richie, move past it like it had never happened. But Richie is good and brave and knows when to take things seriously and Eddie is realizing more and more how lucky he is to have in his life. It’s selfish and it’s stupid but he doesn’t want to give this up. And he doesn’t think he can just be Richie’s friend. The idea of spending all day in the room with him, and having to just watch him walk off at the end of the night would probably distract him more than being in tech and knowing he was going home with Richie afterwards.

“I know it’s a bad idea,” says Eddie. “It’s always been a bad idea. But Mike didn’t tell me we needed to stop sleeping together, he just said I needed to shape up.” It’s true that Mike, despite telling Eddie it was a mistake to sleep with Richie in the first place, never explicitly told him he needed to stop sleeping with him. “And I think I can. Shape up,” he says. “Even though the past two days fucking sucked, the show is looking really good.” 

“Obviously it is, you’re running it," Richie says. 

Even though he's hoping this is the right thing to do Eddie doesn't want this decision to be solely in his hands. “Do you want to keep sleeping together?” asks Eddie. “I mean, do you feel like being involved with me makes you worse at your job?”

“I think having you in the room makes me a better actor, actually. I feel like I’m performing for someone I care about instead of just unfamiliar faces. It gives me more energy.”

“Like you need any more energy,” Eddie says. 

"Trust me, I can take it higher."

It feels like some of the tension is ebbing away, but Eddie can’t leave well enough alone. “Why didn’t you just tell me?” Eddie asks. “When I texted you at first, why didn’t you just tell me the situation instead of waiting?”

“I didn’t know if I could,” Richie says. “It’s not really my shit to tell, you know? And I didn’t want to bother Bev and be like ‘Hey, can I tell my stage manager all about your past trauma so he doesn’t kill me for being late?’ But she could tell I was getting anxious the later and later I was. So by the time I left she said I could tell you. That she trusted you to deal with that information. But by the time she gave me permission it was too late to text you about it. So I thought I would just explain in person.”

“And then I didn’t give you the chance to,” Eddie concludes. “Richie, I’m so sorry.”

“I wanted to tell you because I thought you’d get it. I know your mom and Bev’s dad aren’t the same, but I thought you’d get what it’s like.”

Eddie feels a lump grow in his throat. He imagines his mother tracking him down the way Bev’s dad tracked down her, pounding on his apartment door and trying to drag him back to Maine. He wouldn’t want to be alone then either. And he wished he would be so lucky as to have a friend like Richie, who would stay with him no matter the personal cost to himself. 

“I do get it. I get it and I should have listened to you.”

“It’s fine,” Richie says. “I didn’t explain myself at all, and then I left you hanging for two hours. I would’ve been pissed at me too.” 

“I still didn’t handle it well. It’s just-I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“What, run a tech? I’m pretty sure that’s not true.”

“No, not that. This,” he says, gesturing between himself and Richie.

“You think I’ve done this before? I’m not willy-nilly sleeping with my stage managers.”

“But you have sex with people, you’ve slept with people from shows because fucking everyone has slept with someone they’ve done a show with. I barely sleep with people outside of shows.” 

Richie’s silent for a moment. “I don’t do this,” he says. “Not like this, at least. Not like with you.”

Eddie feels his heart beat faster.

“Like, if any other stage manager chewed me out like that, I would have just brushed it off, complained about what an asshole you were to everyone else in the cast. But I couldn’t do that, because it felt personal in a different way.”

“Yeah, guess that’s a side effect of the whole situation.” His stomach dropped a little at Richie's words. He thought he was talking about something else than their working relationship.

“But it’s more than that too,” Richie continues. “I don’t feel this way about people.”

“And what way do you feel?” Eddie says, heart rate quickening again. 

Richie sighs. “I don’t think I can put it into words,” he says quietly.

“Try,” Eddie says.

Richie meets his eyes. “Like I care about what you think about me, and I want to do things that make you think well of me. I wonder if you’re happy and think about what you’re doing when I’m not with you. I love making you laugh and I love when you say the funniest shit without even meaning to and I just get to listen to you talk. I love getting to be in the room while you work and make something come together just under your direction and words. I love being around you. And I felt like shit yesterday because you yelled at me like you didn’t even know me, and I figured you didn’t feel the same way.”

Eddie feels like his throat is stopped up. He couldn’t even imagine that Richie had the same thoughts about him that he did about the other man, thoughts he could barely let himself acknowledge because their intensity overwhelmed him. 

“I do,” he says without breaking Richie’s gaze, as hard as that is. “I’m just shit at showing it because it scares me.”

Richie reaches out a hand and cups the side of his face. “I really, really like you, Eddie,” he says softly. 

Eddie closes his eyes and leans into Richie’s touch. “I really like you too,” he whispers. 

When he opens his eyes Richie is smiling a little. “Still mad at you for chewing me out like that,” he says.

“Oh please, it could have been much worse,” Eddie says. “I made someone cry once.”

“Really?” Richie asks, looking interested. 

“Oh yeah,” Eddie says. “They ran out to the bodega to get cigarettes when they were supposed to be helping someone do a quick change. When they got back I pulled them outside and told them while they were gone everyone had to cover for them, and things in fact went more smoothly without them there. So the next time they felt like taking a jaunt they could just stay away because they were clearly superfluous to this process.”

“Jesus Christ, you don’t fuck around,” Richie says.

“Not with theater,” Eddie responds. “I like other types of fucking around.”

Richie smiles at him again. “Well then, shall we bang it out?” he says.

Eddie smiles back. He feels so much lighter now that he’s not at odds with Richie. He feels some shame and regret over how he treated him, but he also feels lifted up by the knowledge that Richie likes him, has feelings for him outside of what they do together in bed. He knows it’s still going to be difficult to navigate their working relationship, but he’s attempting to be confident in his own ability to compartmentalize. If being great at his job was the thing he needs to do to keep Richie in his life he would knock this shit out of the park.

Richie stands up and offers him a hand. “Let’s vacate this joint.” Eddie takes his hand and stands up. “Do you want to go back to my place?” he says. He feels as though he needs to make his behavior up to him, show Richie he wants him in his life. 

Richie looks taken aback for a second before saying, “Yeah, I’d like that.” Eddie nods at him. They gather the things and head out of the theater, Eddie checking every door to make sure it’s locked on the way out.

When they get back to Eddie’s apartment he’s nervous. Bill’s not in the living room, which he’s grateful for. He takes Richie’s hand and leads him back to his bedroom.

When he’s inside Richie goes to his bookshelf. He peers at the books, turning to the side a little bit to read the titles. Eddie stands self consciously in the door.

Richie turns to him. “Good shit,” he says approvingly. “I love _Franny and Zooey_.”

Eddie moves further into the room. “I hate to do this, but I have to write my tech report,” he says, heading to the bed. “Sorry to be boring.” He knows his reports are sloppier when he does them on the train, and he’s committed to shaping up if he’s going to keep spending time with Richie.

“Do your job,” Richie says, reaching for Eddie’s copy. “I’m good at killing time.”

Eddie sits on his bed, leaning against the headboard and stretching his legs out. He pats the spot next to him. Richie hops on, throwing his legs out.

They sit side by side for the next twenty minutes or so while Eddie goes over the details from the day and Richie makes his way through his book. When Eddie’s done, he glances over at the progress Richie’s made. He's a fast reader, he notes. Eddie closes his computer and turns to his side. 

“Have we finally moved to the funtivities portion of the evening?” Richie says, facing him.

Eddie leans out a hand to trace his face. “I want to take care of you tonight,” he says. I want you to tell me what you like. I want to make you feel good.”

Richie’s eyes are boring into him. “You always make me feel good.”

“Especially good, then,” Eddie says. “I want you to tell me exactly what you want and I’ll do it. Anything you say.”

Richie swallows. “Okay. Kiss me,” he instructs.

Eddie leans in. He loses himself in Richie’s mouth. He missed this, he realizes. It had been less than a week since the last time he kissed Richie like this, all hungry and open mouthed, and he missed it. He missed tasting Richie on his tongue, feeling Richie sigh into his mouth. 

Richie pulls away. “Touch me,” he says. “I love it when you touch me.”

Eddie reaches down and pulls Richie’s t-shirt over his head. He leans down to suck on his neck lightly, running his hands up and down Richie’s sides. He settles on his hips, gripping him tight.

“Talk to me,” Richie says.

Eddie pulls up. “What do you want me to say?” he asks.

He can see Richie blushing in the dim light of his room. “You know. Nice shit. With some dirty stuff mixed in.”

“Thought you liked it when I was a little mean,” Eddie says, leaning back in to suck on Richie’s neck once more.

“I have layers,” Richie says. “And tonight I want you to be nice to me.”

Eddie pulls up from his neck. “I can be nice,” he says. He moves along his collarbone, dropping kisses. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs. “I think about touching you all the time,” he says, accentuating his words by curving his hand around Richie’s side. “I love how your skin feels against mine, soft and hot and smooth. I like how your hair is a little tickly,” he says, running a hand up his arm. “I’ve never been into hair before, but I like yours.”

Richie sighs above him. “Keep going,” he sighs.

Eddie looks up at him, smirking. “You’re that hungry for it, huh?”

“Yes,” Richie says without any trace of teasing. Eddie moves in and swirls his tongue around one of Richie’s nipples. Richie moans and grabs at his hair. “Love how you react,” Eddie says, running his thumb along the other. “Love that I know I’m making you feel good.”

“You make me feel so good,” Richie says.

Eddie keeps paying attention to Richie’s incredible chest, enjoying taking his time. He reaches his hand down and palms Richie through his jeans. “I’m going to take such good care of you,” he says. “Gonna treat you like you deserve to be treated. Like you’re fucking special.”

Richie lets an honest to god whine, and grinds down on Eddie’s hand. 

Eddie undoes Richie’s belt while he sucks on his clavicle, still playing with his nipples. He reaches through Richie’s underwear and holds him in his hand, stroking over the tip with his thumb. “I love your dick,” he says. “I think your dick was invented solely to haunt my every waking thought.”

“And what do you do with my dick in your presumably dirty thoughts?” Richie says, breathing heavily.

“Take off your clothes and I’ll show you,” Eddie says.

Richie wriggles out of his jeans and underwear and Eddie admires the view. He likes seeing Richie in his bed, his form stretched across his blue duvet.

Eddie reaches his hand out and grabs Richie once more. “I think about touching you like this,” he says. “Think about how you sit in my hand, how good it feels to wrap my fingers around you. Just want to get my hands on all of you all the time.”

“You can touch me whenever you want,” Richie says. “Take me and drag me backstage and mark me up, I don’t fucking care, just want you.”

Eddie his face over Richie’s crotch and hover over his dick, lightly breathing. “I’m going to be so good to you,” he says. “You’re so fucking sexy it drives insane.” He leans in and sucks gently on the tip.

Richie groans. “Your mouth feels incredible,” he says. 

Eddie laps around the top, gently turning his tongue over in little swirls. He moves down slowly, gently dragging his lips. He makes his way down the shaft before he pulls off with a pop. “Tell me what feels good to you,” he says. 

“It feels good when you take it deep,” Richie says. “Like, when I can feel the back of your throat. But you don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he says hurriedly. “I know I’m kinda . . . big.”

Eddie contemplates Richie’s dick. It’s true, it’s enormous, and there’s only so much room in his throat. But he’s utterly committed to making Richie feel good, to take him to another level. So he leans back in, and murmurs, “I love your over-sized cock and I’m going to deep throat every inch of it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Richie groans, throwing his head back. “Jesus fucking Christ, Eds.”

Eddie gets to work. He starts slow, working his way further and further down Richie. He feels a gag reflex rear up a little bit, but he chokes it back, making his way down. Richie’s hitting the back of his throat and he’s taking him deeper still, until Richie’s buried all the way down.

“Look at me,” Richie commands. Eddie looks up as best he can. Richie’s flushed and panting. His hair is completely wild, and all Eddie wants to do is make him look even messier. He feels Richie sit heavy in his mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

“This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he says. “Jesus, I could look at you with my cock in your mouth forever.”

Eddie breaks his gaze and drags his mouth back up Richie’s length. He plunges back down again, moving quickly.

Eddie works Richie over until he’s moaning above him. He takes him in deep, not pulling his head off as he feels Richie touch the back of his throat. Then he goes further, sliding Richie’s dick down. Richie reaches a hand out and fists in his hair. 

“So fucking good at that,” he moans out. “So good to me.”

Eddie keeps moving, feeling Richie begin to twitch underneath him. He reaches a finger back and gently circles Richie’s entrance. He doesn't want to finger him, not without any lube, and he doesn’t want to take his mouth off Richie in the time it would take to get it. So instead he brushes his finger against Richie’s perineum, and he feels Richie push into his mouth. He chokes a little, but doesn’t pull off, knowing Richie is close. He just keeps going, pressing gently against Richie as he envelopes him. 

“Can I come in your mouth?” Richie asks breathlessly.

Eddie hums his assent and Richie grips onto his hair tighter. “Oh god, Eddie, Eds, Eds,” he says like a prayer, and Eddie feels Richie spill down his throat. He doesn’t move off, waiting until Richie’s completely finished before sliding off the top. He moves his tongue over the slit a little bit on the way up and Richie lets out a barely coherent noise. 

Eddie moves up and lays beside Richie. He realizes he’s almost fully dressed while Richie is completely naked. He doesn’t want to take his clothes off though. This wasn’t about him, this was about him doing something for Richie. However, it does make the thought of cuddling a little awkward.

Richie is just lying back with his eyes closed. Eventually he pulls himself together and looks at Eddie. “You’re amazing,” he says. “Truly amazing.”

Eddie smiles at him. Somehow sensing his question from earlier, Richie asks, “Why the fuck are you still wearing jeans?”

“Oh yeah, I guess I’ll change into pajamas,” Eddie says moving off the bed.

Richie grabs his hand before he can get far. “You don’t wanna get naked?” he asks. “Are you not feeling it?”

“I mean, of course I am,” says Eddie. “But I just wanted to take care of you. This was about making you feel good.”

“I feel good when you feel good. I don’t want to come if you’re not going to come too; what’s the point of that?”

Eddie looks at him and hopes the overwhelming rush of affection he feels isn’t evident on his face. So instead he nods, and undoes the buttons on his shirt. Richie pushes it off his shoulders.

“I wanna do to you what you just did to me,” he murmurs. “I want to suck your cock until you come down my throat.”

Eddie shivers. He takes off his jeans and underwear, and lies back on the bed, propped up against the pillows. Richie reaches out a hand to gently stroke him. He scooches to the bottom of the bed, running his hands down Eddie's sides.

“Tell me what I can do to make this good for you,” Eddie says.

Richie kisses the inside of his thigh. “Everything you do makes it good for me.”

“Seriously, Rich,” Eddie says. “It’s like you said, I don’t wanna get off if you’re not getting off too.”

Richie spreads his hands over his hip bones. “I like when you talk,” he murmurs. “Run that motormouth for something good.”

“Suck my cock and I’ll say anything you want,” Eddie promises.

Without another word, Richie envelopes him fully. Eddie moans, threading his fingers through Richie’s hair. “God, I love your mouth,” he says. “Your lips look so pretty wrapped around my dick.” He’s never said things like this before, never been so filthy, but he wants Richie to feel good, keep them in this never ending circle.

Richie hums happily and he bucks into his mouth involuntarily. He should do more of that to Richie, he thinks dazedly. Because that feels fucking incredible.

“I think about fucking you on the nights we’re not together,” he says. “How you feel inside me, imagining how it feels when you take my cock just like this. I touch myself and think about your hands and your tongue and how good it feels on my skin.” Richie moves down deeper before pulling up, sliding his tongue all the way up from the bottom. “But this is better, this is so much better, people shouldn’t be allowed to be so good at this.”

Richie moves up and down, getting faster and faster. Eddie begins to lose himself in the feel until he remembers his part in this whole exchange. “You’re the best at sucking cock,” he gasps. “God, you’re the best it’s ever felt.”

Richie lets out a sound that Eddie feels travel through every inch of him. He looks down. Richie has his own dick in his hand and is stroking up and down, not moving off of Eddie.

“Do you love it that much?” Eddie says. “Love sucking cock so much that you can’t help but touch yourself? Keep getting yourself off, because it’s what you deserve for taking dick so beautifully.”

Richie buries his face down until his nose is touching Eddie’s skin. He sucks his cheeks in, moving slowly up. Eddie notices his hand is moving faster and faster on himself, stroking his dick along with the thrusts he’s making on Eddie.

Richie got hard from giving him head, he thinks dizzily. Richie’s turned on by just going down on him. Eddie didn’t think that was possible, but he’s hard again, after just coming down Eddie’s throat. Getting Eddie off did that to him. He thinks about a night at a later date, Richie in the same position but this time grinding desperately against the bed, not touching himself until Eddie lets him. He reaches down and grabs a fistful of Richie’s hair, thrusting up a little into his mouth without being able to help it. 

“God, I’m gonna come,” he babbles out. “You’re gonna make me come so hard, you’re so good, so fucking precious.”

Richie pushes his face all the way back down, just taking Eddie’s dick against his throat again and again, moving his tongue along the bottom. Eddie feels his orgasm building in his gut, taking over his brain. It hits somewhere deep inside, starting in his toes and traveling throughout his whole body. He pushes his hips off the bed as he comes down Richie’s throat. “Richie,” he says, long and drawn out. “Oh god, Rich.”

He feels a soft little cry come from Richie’s mouth while he’s still enveloping him, still not moving his mouth off him. He feels Richie gasp desperately, taking Eddie in deeper as he finishes. Once he’s completely spent he pulls his head off of Eddie. He doesn’t move, just lying his head against Eddie’s thigh. Eddie plays with his hair absently.

“Did you come again?” he asks after a minute.

“Yeah, I did,” Richie says. “Came right after you did. Technically came while you were coming. Not quite a simultaneous orgasm, but it’s a start.”

“Can’t believe you managed a second orgasm.”

“What can I say, you give me that refractory period of a teenager. You’re just that damn hot.”

Eddie smiles. “C’mere,” he says, tugging on Richie's arms.

Richie crawls up the bed until his head is laying on Eddie’s chest. “My feet are gonna hang off the edge of the bed,” he says. “And I have jizz on me.”

“Don’t care right now,” Eddie says. “ And I always have to rest my cheek against your sweaty chest and now it’s your turn.”

“You won’t think I’m so hot if I get sweat acne,” Richie says.

“Yeah, I will,” says Eddie. He reaches down a hand to stroke it across Richie’s back. 

They lie there a moment before Richie asks, “Aren’t you going to shower?”

“I’ll do it later,” Eddie says. “Don't wanna move right now. Plus, if I do it in the morning, maybe you can join me,” he says coyly. 

“Oh, sign me the fuck up.” says Richie. “I’ll get up early for that. First in line to scrub down Eddie Kaspbrak’s back. Kasp brak back. Brak back knack. Knick knack brak.”

“You’re losing coherency,” Eddie observes. “Time for sleep.”

Richie climbs off of Eddie and roots around the room for a towel. When he finds the one hung up on the hook on the back of the door he wipes himself down. He comes back to the bed and pulls back the covers, dragging the edge of the blanket down and folding himself in, cuddling Eddie to his chest. “Back to your regular starring role as little spoon.” Eddie settles comfortably in his arms, turning his face away.

Lying there in the dark, he wonders where they go from here. Richie likes him. ‘ _Like_ likes you,’ says a juvenile voice in the back of his head. Maybe he sensed that already, but it’s different having it out in the open. And he like likes him too. He’d tried to let his feelings flow through him like Riley suggested but it had just turned into a bigger and bigger wave until all he felt was Richie.

He doesn’t know where they’ll go from here. But he doesn’t need to right now. Right now, they’ve just had their first round of make up sex, and even though he’s not looking forward to the next fight, he’s looking forward to what comes after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about drawing out the fight over two chapters but tbh this was really hard to write and I just wanted them to be happy.
> 
> Are they making a mistake? Probably. Will it be worth it? Who knows.
> 
> Come talk to me on twitter [@beepbeepbxtch](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) and tumblr at [toziertool](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/)


	10. the young man who makes such tender declarations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They open the show!

For the next two days of tech they either go back to Richie's or Eddie’s after they’re done for the night. Eddie would prefer his but as they found out the morning after the first night, none of his clothes fit Richie. Eddie looks a little silly in Richie’s button ups, but at least he likes to imagine they’re fashionably over-sized instead of purely ridiculous. Richie just can’t physically fit into any of his shirts without wildly stretching them out. Eddie wants to suggest they start keeping full sets of clothes at each other's places instead of just the stray shirt here and there, but he doesn’t want to be so outright. He’s been bringing a toothbrush to Richie’s ever since the first night, but he carefully stows it in his bag so Richie won’t think he’s being presumptuous by leaving it. It just seems serious to start leaving tangible evidence of their relationship in each other’s spaces, serious in a way Eddie doesn’t want to bring out into the open right now. So instead they go back and forth with just the clothes on their backs, Richie taking too long in the shower before they have breakfast with their various roommates each morning. Eddie makes coffee for both of them, one cup after the other, before pouring copious amounts of sugar and milk into Richie’s. He makes Richie wait in the Subway station for ten minutes after they both get off so it doesn’t look suspicious that they’re arriving together. 

Opening night is on Friday, and they have one last period during the day to work different moments that still need some attention. Mike has become consumed by the stage picture of the climactic shootout, and Eddie has to keep reminding him that they need to move on from that and tighten up the end of the play.

Eventually they finish working moments, and Mike leaves to grab a beer with the designers before the show while all of the actors head backstage, tucking themselves safely out of sight. Eddie grabs his script and heads up towards the booth.

Eddie’s pre-show jitters have always manifested in stages. There’s the initial wave of anxiety interrupted by a sudden burst of confidence. However, the confidence gives way pretty quickly to a crushing realization that even though he's done this a million times before he no longer has any idea of this works and he’s going to freeze the second the show starts. Then, half an hour before the show he accepts his fate, comes to terms with the fact that this is going to be the worst performance that’s ever been called in New York, and opens the doors with the certainty this show will end his career. After he brings the lights down, he gets one spike of panic when he presses the go button that quickly morphs into a wave of competence after that cue lands, and he begins to move through the show with ease and a little bit of a glow. All in all, it’s quite an emotional rollercoaster, one that even though Eddie can predict, he can’t avoid. 

Eddie is firmly in the ‘I have never done this before and I’m going to fail the second people are looking’ phase of his freak out. To take his mind of his own despair, he pulls out his phone and goes to text Richie. Once again, he sees he’s saved him as ‘Actor Richie.’ Looking around like someone will see him, he goes to edit it, and changes it to ‘Richie Tozier.’ Better to have a last name anyway. He texts the other man

**Break a leg!**

Richie responds very quickly.

_r u freaking out_

**What? Why would I be freaking out?** replies Eddie, freaking out over the fact Richie can apparently see through him. 

_cuz u were just way too nice to me_

_so something’s up_

Eddie frowns and resolves to be nicer to Richie, because reaching out in a show of support shouldn’t come as a surprise to him.

**Well, it’s courteous to wish someone good look before a show.**

_r u gonna text everyone or just the people who’ve had their dick up ur ass?_

**I take it back, I hope you literally break a leg by falling off the stage.**

_we would get great reviews_

_Most exciting thing to happen to theater in years_

**No, we would not, we would be a disaster**

_how am i supposed to say good luck to you? what do stage managers say?_

Eddie flashes back to high school, the first time he was on headset with Riley backstage. “Break legs,” she said to him, and he asked her to repeat herself, thinking he misheard. “Break legs,” she said. “It's more badass that way.”

**Break legs,** he texts Richie back

_hell yeah_

_break legs_

_get out there and crack some motherfuckin skulls_

_you’re gonna be great_

**So are you** , Eddie responds, then puts his phone away. He feels buoyed up by his conversation with Richie, the fear of their first audience not weighing down so heavily on him. He's never felt so connected to someone he's about to open a show with, and it gives him a different sense of determination, thaat he wants to do right by himself and Richie too.

Time ticks by, and at thirty minutes till curtain he gives to ushers the okay to let people into the house. They trickle in, grabbing their various seats. Eddie sees Mike, looking nervous, sitting with a man who looks like he might be his grandfather.

Scanning the audience, he sees someone staring directly at the booth instead of looking at the stage or their program. He looks closer, and his eyes widen. Riley gives him a little wave, and he pulls out his phone.

**I didn’t know you were coming!!** he says

_Wanted it to be a surprise,_ Riley responds. _And I wanted to see the guy, figured it was the best way to get access. You’re gonna introduce us._

Eddie smiles despite himself. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of going to a performance you thought you were facing alone with a friendly presence in the audience instead.

_Don’t tell me who it is, I want to guess,_ Riley follows up. 

Eddie’s never really had a consistent type, so he doesn't know if she'll be able to figure it out. From here on out, he’d have to qualify his type as tall, glasses, and funny, but this is a relatively recent development.

The ushers let Eddie know when the doors are closed, and he sits up straight on his stool. This is all his now, and that thrills him a little even as it terrifies him. He fades them out of the pre-show music, brings down the house lights, and takes them into the first cue of the show. 

They make it through the first half smoothly, actors moving quickly and competently in the dark to switch over set pieces. Once Eddie brings up the intermission lights and music he stands up and stretches. He needs to use a stool to get to the counter in the booth but damn does it make his back hurt. He grabs his phone to check it. Riley’s texted him:

_It’s definitely Richie_

**What makes you say that?**

_Because I zeroed in on everyone trying to figure it out, and I caught his eyes flicking to the booth a couple of times. Apparently you’re distracting._

Eddie blushes. He’s never met Richie’s gaze during the show, either too focused on his script or on the action in front of him, but it makes him happy to know Richie’s looking.

Eddie doesn’t hit every moment flawlessly but he’s pretty damn happy with how it turns out. The audience laughs in the right moments, gasps in the right moments. At one point he hears an audible ‘oh no,’ as one of the plot twists is revealed. He’s a beat behind on a light cue, and there’s a sound cue where he needs to adjust the levels, and they definitely have to look at the transition coming out of Scene 7, but he’s too busy feeling good about the overall project to really care, at least for the moment. In the past, he's endlessly nitpicked apart every show both during and afterwards, beating himself up over every perceived failure. And even though he's making notations of every cue that could be sharper he doesn't want to waste his time on his mistakes. When Richie comes out for his bow he whoops and claps, even though no one can hear him behind the soundproof walls of the booth. Richie catches his eyes. There's a moment when they're looking at each other and somehow acknowledging the enormity of what they just pulled off. They'd made a show, created something together. Then Richie breaks it by grinning at him. He bows once more with a flourish and he's gone. 

Eddie brings the house lights up and the audience begins to dissipate. He sits there for a moment, pleased with a job well done. Then he starts flipping through his script to review the moments he could have been sharper.

A knock from the door startles him. Suspicious, he gets up and goes to open it. Riley is standing there, smiling at him. “How did you get here?” he asks.

“I know my way around theaters,” she says, going in for a hug. “Eddie, that was amazing. Like, you know that’s not necessarily my genre, but you did so well. I have no idea how you pulled off that exploding cat moment.”

He hugs her back. He’s so grateful in that moment for everything Riley is to him. She’d been with him through the roughest parts of high school, she taught him everything he knew, and then she encouraged him to grow on his own until he was a stage manager he felt like she could be proud of. He pulls away and smiles at her.

“I’m glad you liked it. Mike might be a genius, I think it’s one of the better shows I’ve worked on,” he says.

“I agree, remember that devised piece, where they rigged all those shoes up to fall on the stage?”

“God, that was awful,” he says, 

They stay and chat in the booth for a while as they wait for the audience to clear out and Eddie works on his performance report. When they’re all gone, Eddie brings up the lights and starts resetting the light board, keeping an eye on the stage hands as they mop up the fake blood. Riley sits on the counter, swinging her legs, while they both try to contain themselves from talking about the show while still in the theater.

Eddie’s almost done when he hears the door handle rattle. “Does this automatically lock or are you just paranoid?” he hears Richie call out.

“I’m trying to keep dangerous men like you out,” Eddie calls back. Riley raises an eyebrow at him. Eddie flushes and makes a face at her, then goes over to open the door. Richie’s standing in the doorway, absolutely beaming. He’s holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands, which he thrusts at Eddie. “For the best damn stage manager in town, who just ran a truly magnificent show.”

Eddie gently takes the flowers from him. It’s not like he’d never gotten flowers on opening night before, but nothing had ever felt like this. “Richie, this is so lovely,” he says. He frowns a little and says “I didn’t get you anything,” he says, feeling disappointed once again in his inability to do nice things for Richie.

“I know what you can give me,” Richie says salaciously, leaning in.

Before anything can happen, Riley yells out, “There’s another person here!”

Richie pulls back. “You sneaking a girl up to the booth?” he says, pushing the rest of the way in. He appraises Riley and then looks over at Eddie. “Is this the latest in the lineup of Eddie Kaspbrak’s friends?”

“I’m Riley,” she says, hopping down from the counter and extending her hand. “Eddie and I have been friends since high school.”

Richie looks over at Eddie. “Riley?” he says. Eddie shoots him a questioning look. He points at himself. “Richie,” he says. Eddie still doesn’t get it, and he frowns.

“Eddie, baby, are you aware if I have an adjacent name to your childhood best friend? Was this subconscious attraction? Are you actually into this woman and have just been transferring your desire to me?”

“We’re both very gay,” Riley says.

“And if I wanted to transfer my desire for a woman, you might not be my number one pick,” Eddie adds. “Besides, your best friends are Bev and Ben, which is just one letter away from being the same name.”

“Yeah, but I’m not fucking either of them. If they asked though, who knows? Seems foolish to turn down a threesome with such beautiful people.”

“Why are you like this?” Eddie says. 

“I’d wrangle you an invite too,” Richie says. “Wouldn’t want to be there without you.”

Riley is watching them with an inscrutable look on her face.

“Speaking of invites, the cast and crew were gonna go out for drinks, you in?” Richie asks.

Eddie shoots Riley a look. She makes a face. She isn’t generally the most social, and he knows she wants to go and talk about the show, something they wouldn’t be able to do freely if they went out with a group. Opening night drinks are important but so is a decade of friendship. So he turns back towards Richie and says, “I think we’re going to do our own thing,” Eddie tells him. “Next time though.”

Richie looks disappointed, but shrugs it off. “I’ll drink enough for the both of us,” he says, turning to leave. 

Eddie glances around and sees Riley gesturing her head towards Richie and trying to signal something with her eyes. Hoping he’s reading her right, Eddie calls back, “You could join us!” Riley gives him a quick nod before Richie turns back to face them. “I’m in like Flynn,” he says. “Now let’s get out of this place.”

Eddie locks up the booth and they make their way out of the theater. Everyone else has vacated the premises, so Eddie shuts down the building before they exit the front door. Once in the warm spring air, they contemplate their plan. “I’m sick of downtown,” Eddie says. “If we go back to a bar in Bushwick you’ll both be close to home, so convenient for everyone.” He turns to Richie. “That is, if it’s cool I stay over.”

“Eddie baby, you know you never have to ask,” Richie says, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “Now tonight, let's go to a festive place, a celebrating place, because we just opened a motherfucking great show.”

“You have somewhere in mind?” Riley asks.

“I know a spot,” Richie says. “Put your trust in me and I promise not to lead you astray.”

“Just so you know, I have high standards,” Riley says.

“Most of Eddie’s friends do,” Richie says.

They take the train to Bushwick and Richie leads them through the streets. They end up outside of a bar with pulsing LED light up signs that read Mood Ring. Richie greets the bouncer, and they make their way inside. The interior space is funky, and a little more club like than Richie’s bar. There’s booths along the wall, a big circular bar with TV screens displaying the monthly special behind them, and a hallway leading down towards what's presumably a dance floor.

“Hey Bowen!” Richie calls out. “I’m gonna need three of your fanciest schmanciest drinks because tonight we’re fucking celebrating! Give us the house special but make it extra special!”

“You’ll still have to pay for those,” the bartender (Bowen, apparently) says, reaching under the counter to start grabbing supplies. 

“No bartender freebies?” Richie asks. 

“The answer has always been no,” Bowen says.

Richie pulls Eddie forward. “But this, the best looking man in all of New York, just walked into your bar, fresh off a career high show, and you’re not going to even offer him a measly discount?”

“Richie, you were literally the star of the show, if anyone should be getting a discount it’s you,” Eddie says, blushing at the praise.

“It doesn’t matter because I’m paying,” says Riley, pushing past both of them. “The show kicked ass and that’s because of both of you, so you both deserve drinks on me.”

“Why aren’t you just the sweetest thing?” Richie proclaims in a Southern accent. Riley scoffs, and Eddie says, “Don’t worry, if you hate that one he’ll always have another one.”

They all grab their drinks and head to the booth. Eddie has a moment of indecision where he doesn’t know if he should sit next to Richie or Riley, but eventually he settles on Riley, because that way he’s choosing her but he’s actually at an advantage because he can look at Richie’s face all night. 

Riley raises her drink. “To _The Lieutenant of Inishmore_ and these two sons of bitches who pulled it off in all its bloody glory.”

“Here, here,” Richie says, raising his glass in return. Eddie joins them, and they all clink. He takes a deep gulp, watching Richie’s Adam’s apple bob while he sips his drink.

Richie sets his drink down, and turns towards Riley. “How did you two meet?” he asks eagerly. “Thrown together in a heist, on the run from the law?”

“Eddie acted in a show I stage managed in high school,” Riley says, sipping her cocktail.

Richie looks delighted. “Eddie acted?” He turns to Eddie. “You, out on a stage, strutting your way across, costumed in tight little pants?”

“It was one time!” Eddie protests. “And I immediately switched over to tech because being in front of the lights fucking sucks.”

“So I’m gathering you’re a theater person too?” Richie asks Riley. 

“I stage managed for a little, now I do lighting design,” she replies.

Richie puts on his thinking face for a second, then lights up. “Are you Riley Glissan?” he says. “My friend Sam was an actor in _Shrinking Violets_ , he said your work is amazing.”

“That’s me,” Riley says. “And yeah, that was a fun play to work on, they let me throw in so many fixtures.”

:"Love a good on stage lamp," Richie says. "Especially since I'm never the one who has to wire it."

Eddie sits there for a second, pleased that two of his favorite people in the world are getting along, when Riley turns to him. “Okay, since we’ve already established I liked the show, can we pick it apart?” she asks. 

“As long as you don’t hold back,” Eddie says. “Especially about Richie’s work. If you’re too complimentary it will go to his head.”

“Don't worry, you know I don’t care about bruised egos,” Riley says. “Okay, so, the lighting was good, but why so much red in the second half? We get it, people are bleeding to death.”

They keep talking about the show in a way both critical and admiring, going over what could be made stronger and what already held up well. Eddie insists on getting the second round of drinks, getting the fruity special for himself again while snagging beers for Richie and Riley. They talk later and later, loosening up with the more drinks they have. Eventually, Riley stretches herself up. “I need a cigarette,” she proclaims. 

“Me too,” Richie says. “Even though I should quit.”

“Are you trying?” Eddie asks.

Richie shrugs. “Yeah, figured you hated the taste.”

“It’s not so bad when you get used to it,” Eddie says. “If you quit you should quit for you, not for me, because smoking is stupid and fucks up your lungs.”

“Aw, Eds, you don’t want me to die of lung cancer?”

"Don't call me Eds," Eddie responds. "And lung cancer would be a very unpleasant way to die. You know you cough up blood?"

Riley starts making her way to the door. “This is very charming, but I still need a cigarette,” she says. “You coming?” she asks Richie. 

“Aye, aye, captain,” he says, saluting her, and grabs his cigarettes.

Standing outside, they both light up. “How long have you been in Bushwick?” Riley asks.

“Like, four years now?” Richie says. “It’s close to all the places I wanna work, it’s easy to get downtown. It’s perfect.”

“So you wouldn’t leave?” Eddie asks. 

“I mean, I’ve got a pretty sweet deal going with Ben and Bev. But they’re gonna want their own place eventually, so maybe a move would be right.”

“Eddie hates Bushwick,” Riley supplies. Eddie frowns at her. “I hate Bushwick less now, okay?” he says. “It has its charms.”

“I’ve been trying to convince him to move down here for years,” Riley tells Richie. “He just had to settle in upper Manhattan and never leave.”

“I might leave,” says Eddie, not even having considered this option before this moment. “The commute is long.” He doesn't specify that when he says commute he’s thinking of the journey between his and Richie’s, the roughly hour and a half of train time between their two apartments. 

“You contemplating a move?” Richie asks.

“Maybe,” Eddie replies. “It’s a good apartment, but I bet Audra’s going to want to move in soon and it would be nice to have a bigger place. And the rent is cheap here, right? I bet I could convince Bill to come to Brooklyn,” he says. “He can write pretty much anywhere, and he’d pick up a bunch of money tutoring rich Park Slope kids.”

Richie’s looking at him with something that might be hope. “We could get the whole gang here,” he says. “Minus Stan and Patty because he seems too fancy to want to settle outside of Manhattan.”

“You guys have a gang now?” Riley asks, pulling on her cigarette.

“Richie’s friends and my friend started hanging out,” Eddie explains. “It just kinda . . . happened.”

“I’m really happy for you,” Riley says. She turns to Richie. “In high school, we didn't have any other friends, just the two of us against the world. Which was fine with me, I only need one best friend, but I know Eddie wanted more.”

“You were the only person I wanted to be friends with in that whole school,” Eddie protests.

“Yeah, but now you have a much wider pool to choose from than Derry High. That’s why we both came to New York: to meet people we felt like we belonged with. I’m glad you found them.”

Richie and Riley finish up their cigarettes, and they head back inside to keep talking. It gets late enough that eventually they all need to go home. Eddie stretches out of the booth and tells both of them, “I’m going to hit the bathroom, then we can head out.” He’s wary to leave Riley and Richie alone together, but he’s hoping they can both behave themselves. 

When he comes back Riley is talking and Richie is listening with a serious look on his face, nodding occasionally. Riley stops talking when Eddie approaches. Richie hops out of the booth as Eddie slides in. “Gonna hit the whiz palace as well,” he says. He saunters off to the bathroom. 

Eddie thinks about asking what they were talking about, what Riley was saying to Richie and how he reacted. But then Riley asks, “Do you want to know what I think?”

Eddie feels his pulse quickening. Riley’s opinion matters to him, and he desperately wants her to think well of Richie, to validate the feelings that have been growing inside him.

“Always,” he responds.

“He’s a charmer, but he’s got a heart underneath all that posturing. He talks too much but most of what he says is interesting, which means he’s not a blow hard. He notices things, you can tell he’s filing stuff away in his head, so I know he’s smarter than he acts. But most importantly, he’s crazy in love with you.”

Eddie gapes. That’s not what he was expecting. 

“How do you know that?” he asks. “Did he say something?”

“No, of course not,” she responds. “But he can’t stop looking at you, or paying attention to you. There wasn’t a single moment tonight when he wasn’t angled towards you. He hangs off your every word, and I don’t know him well enough to say this for certain, but I'm betting he doesn’t smile like that with everyone. I think he could have listened to me tell stories about you all night. All signs point to him being balls deep in love with you.”

“He can’t be in love with me, he doesn't know me that well,” Eddie responds.

“I think he knows you pretty well. You told him about your mom after what, a month? It took you four months for you to even admit to me that things were fucked up at home. And have you ever told Bill the full story, with all the ugly details?”

Eddie stays silent. It’s true he’s never opened up to anymore in quite the way he’s opened up to Richie, let someone into his interior so deeply. He just makes it so easy, makes Eddie want to share with him all the gory truths at the heart of himself. 

“He also makes you happier than I’ve ever seen you with someone,” says Riley, downing the last of her beer. “Even though apparently you get off on pretending to hate him. You’ve never laughed like this with anyone before.”

“I’ve never dated anyone with a sense of humor before,” Eddie replies.

“Oh, so you’re dating now?” Riley says.

“No!” Eddie says very quickly. “No, we haven’t talked about that at all. I don’t know though. Sometimes it seems like we're heading there.”

“If you want it, go for it,” Riley says. “You’ve always been good at that.”

“No, I haven't,“ Eddie says. “I fucking freeze.”

“You tried tech when you didn’t have to, you left our hell hole of a home town and went somewhere better even when your mom made it as hard for you as possible. You moved to New York with a thousand dollars in savings and nothing else, and you made it work. If ten years of friendship has taught me anything, you can do whatever you set your mind to. If you want to date Richie, then I know you’re gonna go ahead and date Richie.”

“I don’t know if he wants to date me,” Eddie says.

Riley scoffs. “Eddie, be serious. I’m right about this. As always.”

He sees Richie heading back from the bathroom, and nudges Riley. “We can talk about this more later,” he tells her. She nods.

When Richie gets back Eddie hops out of the booth. “Shall we?” he says, and Riley slides on out after him. 

They walk for a little bit together before Riley splits off to go to her own apartment. She hugs Eddie and then, to his surprise, leans in to give Richie a hug as well. 

“Pleasure to meet you,” she says. “Don’t fuck up.”

“Wouldn't dream of it,” Richie says. 

Riley says her final farewells, and Richie and Eddie head toward Richie’s. Once they're out of ear shot Richie asks, “How are all your friends so cool? Do you test everyone first, put them through the ringer, give them a written exam?"

“No, I’m just highly selective,” Eddie says.

“Glad I passed the vetting process,” Richie says.

“You were very close to not making it,” Eddie says. 

“Tell me, what was the cut off? If I’d been fifteen minutes later would I have been dead to you forever?”

They bicker comfortably on the way back to Richie's apartment. Once they're in Richie's room, they make quick work of each other. The sex they have is triumphant, Eddie not caring enough the hold back the myriad of noises that Richie coaxes from him. Once they’re both sated they lie back in Richie’s bed comfortably.

Richie’s just lying there, stroking his back, when Eddie's compelled to say, “What made you want to become an actor?” He’s never considered anyone’s origin story before, never thought deeply about what might make someone want to be on the stage.

Richie’s hand stills on his back. “I don't know,” he says. “A lot of reasons.”

“Okay, pick one” Eddie says

Richie resumes stroking. “You feel . . . . free. You get to channel something, make it flow through you, even at the same time as you’re in complete control. Sometimes I’ll be reading the script and I’ll think of a specific intonation to make a phrase hit as hard as possible and I’m so proud of myself. But sometimes I’ll just make a hand gesture without meaning to and suddenly there’s more personality there. And it’s so exhilarating to be someone else, to have the audience laugh and gasp because you’re making them.”

“Making them?” Eddie says.

“Not forcing them to do it. But something about your performance is wringing it out of them. It’s a sense of power, but it’s not bad. You're in on it together.”

“I always feel distant from the audience,” Eddie says. “Like I'm making something happen for them, not with them.”

“That’s because you have your pane of glass separating you,” Richie says.

“No, that’s not it,” says Eddie. “They're just not a part of what I'm doing. I'm moving things around for them, and they’re not in on the process.”

“So what makes you love being a stage manager?” Richie asks. 

“You get to take this show and glue it together. It’s not cohesive unless I’m good at my job, unless I make people communicate. You do all that prep work, and then it’s just you and the show, it becomes your's. It’s like you’re a conductor. You have the power to keep things moving, to shape the rhythm of the show. It can be . . . magical.”

“Magical, huh?” Richie says, snuggling closer. “Like fairies and unicorns?”

“Fuck you, I know magic is corny, but there’s no better way to describe it. It just feels so fucking good when it goes right, you know? Like, when you finish going through a scene, and you just know you hit every beat perfectly, you can feel them land in this almost physical way. Calling a perfect show is better than great sex.”

“What the fuck?” Richie says. “Are you telling me you’d rather call a perfect show than screw like we just did?”

“Yep,” Eddie says. “The rush doesn’t compare.”

“I’m going to change your mind about that,” Richie says. 

“Give it your best shot,” Eddie responds, snuggling in deeper to Richie’s warmth.

They drift off like that, content in each other's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically just a happy little chapter because the previous one was intense. 
> 
> I named Riley after one of my best friends from college theater and didn't realize she and Richie have pretty much the same time until three chapters in lol
> 
> Mood Ring is a real bar! You can check it out [here](https://www.yelp.com/biz/mood-ring-brooklyn-2)


	11. man with the star shaped scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unexpected happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for a panic attack in this chapter. Message me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) or [tumblr](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/) if you want to know where to cut.

When Richie and Eddie wake up in the morning they lie around in bed for awhile, having lazy, slow sex, before showering and getting dressed together. They emerge from Richie’s room to find Bev and Ben discussing where they want to go to brunch.

“What about Peaches?” Bev is saying. “You know I love their French toast.”

“I know you love the syrup, not the toast.” Ben turns to Richie and Eddie. “We’re going to get food, do you guys want to join?” he asks.

“Fuck yeah, double brunch date,” says Richie. Before Eddie or anyone else can address the date comment, Richie plows ahead. “But we're definitely going to House Party; they have the best coffee in Brooklyn.”

“You don’t give a shit about good coffee,” says Bev.

“Yeah, but some people do,” Richie responds, shooting a glance at Eddie. 

They settle on Richie’s choice and all head out together. Brunch is light; they tell Ben and Bev how the show went last night, and Bev and Ben talk about the concert Bev dragged Ben to last night.

They spend the rest of the day before they’re called lounging around Richie’s apartment, watching TV with Ben and Bev and running some errands Richie needs doing. Before long, Eddie’s getting ready for show call in Richie’s room, Richie sitting on the bed and peppering him with questions about his favorite scenes from _The Office_ , when Eddie asks one of the things that's been rattling around his head for a while.

“Is it okay if I start keeping pants here?” he blurts out, cutting Richie off from whether or not Season 8 was redeemable. “It’s just, I don’t think anyone from the show will notice that I'm wearing some of the same clothes as yesterday, but it’s better safe than sorry.”

Richie stops swinging his legs on the bed before he says, in a strangely high pitched voice, “Sounds good.”

Eddie frowns a little. “I mean, we don’t have to if you feel weird about it, it's just for, you know, convenience's sake.”

“No I’d-I’d like that,” says Richie, clearing his throat. “As long as, you know, it’s cool if I do the same.”

“Yeah, of course,” Eddie says.

He leaves for his show call before Richie does; he needs to be there earlier than the other man. Richie kisses him in the doorway, long and lingering, until Eddie tells him he’s going to be late, and, because of his renewed commitment to the show, he’s actually able to detach himself from Richie’s lips and head out.

Eddie sets up the theater carefully. He’s a little worried about the faltering quality that sometimes follows a good opening night. But it hadn’t been a perfect show, and he’s confident Mike’s notes will bring them to an even higher level. 

When Richie arrives he shoots Eddie a brilliant smile that Eddie can’t even pretend to not return. He’s just so happy to see him, to spend another night watching him work, this time with some of the opening night tension relieved.

They run through Mike’s notes, going over some acting moments and tightening up a few transitions. They get closer to show time, and Richie retreats backstage to get into costume. 

Eddie heads up to the booth. His pre-show jitters are never as bad the second night, and he’s able to compose himself reasonably well. He brings up the pre-show lights and music, and gives the okay for the ushers to open the house doors.

It’s ten minutes before curtain when he sees her. She’s walking up the staircase to a seating embankment and he knows her walk, knows how she seems to roll from side to side a little bit when she moves. He’s so shocked he can’t move, frozen to his stool. He knows he’s physically in the adrenaline filled space between fight or flight but he can’t fight, there’s nothing he can do about what’s happening in front of him. Overcome by panic, he scrambles off his stool and crouches underneath the desk out of sight.

His mom can't be here. His mom absolutely, cannot be here. She shouldn’t even know that he’s in New York, let alone where he’s working. But she does know somehow. She knows and she’s here. He hasn’t seen her in years and he’d have been happy to never see her again, especially when he has to engage in an important task that takes all of his concentration, and he can’t do this, he deeply can’t do this.

With shaking hands, he pulls out his phone and calls Riley. He presses it to his ear, each ring taking interminably long. She picks up, and says in a light tone, “Hey kid, long time.”

“My mom is here,” he says, not even sure how his voice is coming out of his mouth “I don’t know how, but she’s here.”

“Fuck me,” Riley says. “Eddie, she can’t do anything to you, I promise, there’s nothing she can do to you any more. God fucking dammit, I’m an hour away, even if I take a lyft.”

Eddie feels his vision blurring. “Riley, what do I do?” he whispers. “I can’t do this, I can’t call a show right now.” He’s shaking all over. He needs his inhaler, needs it so badly, even though he’s known for almost a decade that it does nothing.

“Call Richie,” she says. “Hang up and call Richie right away.”

“Okay,” he says numbly. He ends the call and brings up Richie’s contact. He knows in a different circumstance he would reprimand the other man for having his phone on him so close to showtime but now he’s counting on Richie’s loose relationship with rules because he desperately needs him to pick up. 

Richie picks up on the second ring. “Eds, is everything okay?” he says worriedly. “We’re a little close to curtain for this to be a social call.”

Eddie is past keeping it together at this point. “My mom is here, and I can’t do this show with her in the audience, I just can’t, I can’t be here, I don’t know what to do, and I just-I just-” He’s beginning to hyperventilate. 

“Stay on the phone with me and just keep breathing,” Richie says. “Don’t move. I’ll be there soon.” Then his voice drops off.

“Richie?” Eddie says into the phone, but the other man doesn’t respond. He has to trust that there’s a reason Richie just went silent. He listens to the white noise his phone is emitting, thinking about Richie on the other end of the line.

Eddie just stays underneath the desk, curled up into a ball. He feels his blood rushing in his ears and his heart beating too fast. He wants to move, he has to fling out the energy somehow, but he’s too scared that she’ll see him, so he just rocks back and forth a little.

He hears the door handle rattle. “Eds, please open the door,” Richie says, sounding terrified. “Please let me in.”

Eddie lets go of his phone and pulls himself from underneath the desk. He crawls over to the door and reaches up, pulling down the handle. It swings open and he looks up at Richie. 

Richie drops to the floor immediately. He reaches out and wraps Eddie up, pulling him into his lap and close to his chest. “Breath with me,” he says. “We’re gonna take some deep breaths together, okay? Breath in for eight counts: one, two . . .”

He breathes up and down with Richie, his words softly guiding him. The buzzing from his ears fades, and he feels his weird frantic energy start to drain from him. He breathes, counting the moments he’s inhaling before waiting at the peak for a couple of seconds. He centers himself, feeling his heartbeat in his chest, constant and reassuring. After a couple of minutes he sags, exhausted, in Richie’s arms. He grounds himself in the feel of Richie against his chest, his hands resting on his forearms. It’s only then he notices that Richie is very sweaty.

“Why are you so sticky?” he mumbles, not extracting himself from Richie.

Richie chuckles a little. “I kinda, uh, sprinted here,” he says. “And I’m not in very good shape. Was really hard to do those breathing exercises because I also may have been very out of breath.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says sincerely. 

Richie rests his chin in his shoulder. “Of course I did,” he whispers.

Eddie’s quiet a second, letting his panic attack recede. He takes in a shaky breath. “I still can’t do this,” he says. “I can’t call a show with my mom in the audience. I know it’s weak but the idea of her sitting there, watching and judging me, scares the shit out of me. I don’t know why she’s here, I don’t know what she wants.”

“We can leave right now,” Richie says. “I’ll pull the fire alarm and we can take off into the night. Just say the word.”

In his calmer state of mind, Eddie considers his options as rationally as he can. There has never been a good ending to the story of a stage manager who took off literally when the show was supposed to start. He would absolutely get fired, and probably not find work in this town or most others again. He’s terrified, he’s scared deeply to his bones for reasons he can't even fully articulate, but really, what’s the worst that could happen? She could start screaming in the middle of the show, but then someone would escort her out. She can't get to him in the booth, the place that’s always been his sanctuary. She can't do anything. He’s still in control of the room, just like he always is.

He twists around and looks Richie squarely in the eyes. “I need you to tell me I can do this,” he says.

Richie doesn’t hesitate. “You can do this. You can do anything, Eddie.”

He takes a deep breath. “I have to do this,” he says. “And I can do this.”

“Fucking right,” Richie says. “‘You're my hero, Ferris Bueller,’” he says in a nasally voice, and Eddie, without even knowing hows, laughs.

Eddie pulls himself out of Richie’s lap. He reaches a hand down and pulls him up too. He runs a rand down his chest. The familiar counters reassure him. “You got your costume all smelly,” he says.

“I’ll just spray it with some vodka water before I go on,” Richie says.

Eddie checks the time. It’s ten minutes past curtain, and even though Eddie has literally never started a show on time (in New York you always needed to give a grace period for subway mishaps) he’s getting to the point where he needs to start. He turns back towards Richie. “You should go backstage,” he tells him, mustering himself up as best he can. “We’ve got a show to do.”

Richie leans forward and places his face in his hands. “You’re amazing,” he says, sounding awed. “Truly amazing.”

Eddie leans up and kisses him. ‘So are you,’ he wants to tell him, but he’s not there right now, he has too much to sort out in his head before he can throw the feelings he has for Richie burbling under the surface into the mix. 

Richie pulls away. “Break legs, baby,” he says, and then he’s out the door.

Eddie settles back down on his stool. Now that he’s thinking about it, his mother has no idea what a stage manager does, she probably doesn’t know to look for him in the booth, or what he’s doing in the show. She’s going to hate this play, she’s going to absolutely despise it, and he has to remind himself he doesn’t care about her opinion anymore, that she's not going to cast judgment down upon his life. 

He texts Riley, **I’m okay** , lets the ushers know he’s ready to close the doors, and brings the house lights down. He’s starting the performance late, but it’s not astronomical. He tries to let his mind become enveloped in the show, and presses the go button.

It’s honestly one of the better shows he's called. He’s so on edge, so invested in throwing himself into something to distract him, that he’s sharp with his cues, never missing his beats. His finger hovers over the go button and doesn’t leave it the whole play. During intermission, he retreats back under the desk and chugs water. Richie’s texted him:

_ur doing fucking phenomenal_

Eddie texts him back:

**I’m so glad you’re here**

_me too_

Soon enough, they have to go back into the show. Eddie keeps it sharp, moving them through the scenes smoothly. He watches Richie in the moments where there’s not so many cues, comforted by his presence in the room. 

They’re nearing the end of the now and Eddie feels his panic returning. After the show ends, he’ll have to deal with this. He somehow doesn’t imagine his mother came here to see a piece of violent Irish drama and then leave without talking to him. He flubs one of the final cues, finger too twitchy on the go button. It’s just a minor light shift but he still curses himself.

They get through the end of the play and everyone takes their bows. When they’re done he sees Richie move like a flash offstage. He gets a text a little later 

_im getting out of costume then im coming to the booth_

Eddie, still wary that his mother will turn around and find him, goes back under the counter. He knows this is the most cowardly move he could make. But he can just imagine how her eyes will widen when she sees him before narrowing down into little points, her mouth puckering up in a frown.

It’s not long before he hears a knock on the door. Summoning up his courage, he stands up to open it and let Richie in. Once open, he collapses into Richie’s arms. Richie gently strokes his hair.

“You did it,” Richie whispers. “And you did it great.”

Eddie doesn’t respond. He’s exhausted, and he knows there’s still more to come. He pulls away from Richie. “She’s not going to just leave,” he says. “She came here because she wants something. And I’m going to have to deal with that.”

“Maybe if we camp out in the booth for the next couple of days she’ll go away,” Richie suggests.

“I have to face her eventually,” Eddie says. “And I won’t let her force me to do it over terms anymore than she already has.”

He doesn’t have it in him to write his performance report right then, so he and Richie just sit in silence in the booth waiting for the theater to clear out. Eddie doesn’t want there to be too many people around for whatever his mom is about to say. 

But eventually he can’t put it off any more. He climbs off the floor and Richie follows him. He locks up the booth and turns to Richie. “This is gonna really fucking suck,” he says.

“You can do this,” Richie says. “You just bounced back from a panic attack to call a flawless show, you think there’s anything you can’t handle?”

“It wasn’t flawless, one of the gunshots came in a beat too late, which was very apparent. And I’m sure you noticed the light cue at the end.”

“There’s my Eds, too critical for his own good.” Richie reaches out and takes his hand.

They go down the hallway towards the lobby. Once they get through the doors, Eddie scans the room for other members of the show. Finding none, he keeps his grip on Richie's hand.

He sees her standing over by the wall. She has a look of immense displeasure on her face, shuddering away from the other theater goers as they pass by her.

“Is she the one who looks like she has shit underneath her nose?”

“That’s her,” Eddie says. He squeezes Richie’s hand once before dropping it. “I don’t know what’s going to happen but it’s not going to be fun,” he says.

“You know I’m in your corner if you need me,” Richie responds.

Eddie make's his way over to his mother. His heart is beating out of his chest and his palms are sweating. He wants to turn and flee and not deal with this, not deal with this ever. But if he doesn’t face her he'll spend the rest of his life worrying she’ll be dogging his steps, chasing him from afar. He wishes she hadn’t come here, wishes he’d just been able to leave her behind in his past life, but there was no avoiding it now.

She spots him and her mouth drops in a little ‘o’ of surprise before she’s rushing towards him and crushing him into her chest. “Oh, Eddie,” she wails. “Oh my Eddie Bear, what have they done to you?”

He feels a revulsion at the name Eddie-bear, one he hadn’t heard for so many years. Nicknames had become a positive thing for him recently but for so long the labels his mother put him infantilized him, kept him weak and small.

“That play was awful, Eddie, how could you stand to make something like that? To think that my son, my precious baby, made something so revolting-oh, it made me feel sick, how could you do that to your poor mother?”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Eddie says, extracting himself from her arms without hugging her back. “I think it’s a great show. You didn’t have to come see it, and I don’t know what you’re doing here. How did you find me?”

“Your Aunt Melinda liked a post you were tagged in on facebook. I can’t imagine why you would keep in contact with that horrible woman. Especially when you’d stopped talking to me, who loves you more than anything else in the world.”

Melinda was his mother’s younger sister whom she despised. In a moment of weakness, Eddie had accepted her facebook friend request, figuring there was no way it could link back to his mom. He was deeply regretting that decision now.

“I didn’t do anything to you that you didn’t bring on yourself.”

She gapes at him. He’d never spoken to him like this when he was still at home, never rebuffed her. She swallows, and he sees something hard pass through her eyes for a moment before they start trembling and filling with tears.

“You left me, Eddie,” she says. “You abandoned me. All I’ve ever done is love you and support you, and you took my money so you could make depraved art. I spent years wondering if you were dead, and now I find out this is what you’ve been doing.”

“I didn’t abandon you,” Eddie says. “I left for college. That’s the normal thing people do when they start to grow up. You needed to let me go.”

“And then you never called!” she says. “You stopped coming home, you stopped wanting to see me, and you left me all on my own.” She starts sniffling, the tears coming readily to her eyes. “If you ever cared about me you wouldn’t have done what you did. You wouldn’t have left be alone like that. You don’t love me.”

Eddie feels his heart clench. He knows his mom was bad to him and didn’t treat him well and kept him trapped in a web of lies. But he also loves her. She raised him and for so long his life was just her, just her in the center of his world, and there’s some parts of himself he can never separate from her. It’s instinctive, deep in his bones, in a way he’ll never be able to shake, no matter how far or how fast he runs.

“Of course I love you, Mom,” he says. “But this is what I need to be doing. I’m supposed to be here, making theater.”

“Theater did this to you!” his mom cries out. “You were a good boy until you started doing this, hanging out with that dirty girl. I told you that the theater was full of degenerates and queers and now look at what they made you into.”

“You always said queer like it’s a bad thing, but it’s not,” Eddie says. “It’s community and identity and hope for a better future. And I’m glad that theater is queer and I’m glad I’m queer too.” 

His mother gapes for a second before she starts crying in earnest. “My sweet boy what have they done to you?” she says. “They corrupted you.”

“No one corrupted me,” Eddie says. “I’ve always been like this. Nobody made me into anything I wasn’t already.”

Her eyes go a little wild. “We can fix this,” she says pleadingly. “Eddie, you don't have to live like this. I can take you home and make things right. There’s special places for people like you, where they can make you better.”

“I'm never going back to Maine,” Eddie says. “And there’s nothing you can do any more to make me.”

“You’re sick, Eddie!” she says. “You’re sick, there’s something wrong with you, there’s always been something wrong with you, and no one cares about you but me, cares about you enough to fix you. You’re sick!” She shouts the last part a little hysterically.

Without even having noticed him walk over, he finds Richie at his side. “Eddie’s not sick,” he says firmly. “There’s nothing wrong with him and there’s never been anything wrong with him.”

Eddie feels an overwhelming surge of affection and gratitude for the man next to him. He doesn’t have to face this alone. Up until he started doing theater, he didn't have people in his corner. It was sometimes hard to feel like he did even now. But Richie’s standing here, not making Eddie brave but being brave with him. He reaches out and slips his hand into Richie’s. 

His mother notices their clasped hands and her eyes narrow. “Eddie Bear, are you doing dirty things with this boy?” she asks.

Eddie feels his cheeks heat up. It sounds so base when she says it like that, so crude and shameful, a secret best kept in the dark. But then he remembers the feeling of Richie’s hands on him, how beautiful it sounds when Richie sighs his name. Sometimes the sex they had may be dirty, but it was never shameful.

“Yes,” he says definitively. “Yes I am.”

Eddie’s mother gapes, absolutely horrified. “Eddie!” she says, shocked. “How could you do this to me? I thought I raised you right, raised you well, but I must have failed somewhere as a mother. Unless you’re doing this deliberately to spite me, because otherwise I can’t understand why you would involve yourself with people like him.”

“Has anyone ever told you you have an incredibly warped sense of reality?” Richie says.

Sonia gasps, outraged. She rounds on Eddie. “Are you going to let your-boyfriend,” she spits out venomously, “say such hateful things to me?”

“My boyfriend can say whatever the fuck he wants,” Eddie says. “Believe me, I couldn’t stop him if I tried.”

He feels Richie squeeze his hand tightly and he realizes what just came out of his mouth. Boyfriend. They hadn’t discussed that word but he’d just said it instinctively. He’d just been so furious at his mother and didn’t have time to think before his mouth outpaced him. 

“You need to leave here,” he tells her. “This is my space and this is my world now, and I’m sorry, but you can't be in it if this is how you’re going to act. I wish things were different, but that’s on you, not me. So you need to go home, and I’m not coming with you.”

She makes a reach for him, trying to pull him close to her, but he steps beyond her reach. “Leave,” he says coldly.

She sniffs once more and her eyes harden. “You’re going to come to a bad end if you keep living like this. That boy is going to leave you, because he’s not going to love you or understand you like I do. No one is. And when you come crawling back I won't be there. You can just live with your sins and your disease.” She turns on him and goes out the theater doors. Eddie wonders if she’ll look back to see what he’s sure she hopes is a remorse stricken expression on his face but she doesn’t turn around. When she’s out of sight he releases all the tension in his body.

They stand there just for a second. Then Richie turns to Eddie and says “Your mom really fucking sucks.”

Eddie laughs, even though it is a little weak. Richie reaches his arms out and pulls him close “You’re so brave,” he murmurs. “So fucking brave.”

Eddie lets himself be held for a moment before he pulls away. “So were you,” he says. “You were there for me.”

“You know none of the things she said are true, right? You’re not sick or weak, and you have so many people who love you because they know you, they know who you are. She can’t take that away from you.”

He reaches his hand out, tangling it in Richie's once more. Then he steps away, and says, “Can we please go back to my place? I can’t wear these pants another day.”

“Whatever you want,” Richie says.

The train ride home is quiet; Eddie has things he wants to say, but the overly lit cars don’t seem like the right atmosphere. It isn’t until they’re walking back to his apartment that he can't keep it in anymore.

“I’m sorry I said you were my boyfriend,” Eddie says. “Like, I get why that might make you feel weird, but it just came out.”

“You don’t need to be sorry,” Richie says. “I-I liked it,” he says, not meeting Eddie’s eyes.

“Oh,” says Eddie, stomach swooping.

“You could, you know, keep saying it. If you wanted too.”

Eddie feels like his body has been flooded with helium, filled up with some element lighter than air. He’s so fucking happy for a second before he says automatically “We can’t date, we have to work on this show together.”

Richie gnaws on his lower lip, still looking away from Eddie. “Oh. Yeah. Sorry. For mentioning it, I mean.”

Eddie feels a sense of wrongness flood him. Here was Richie, putting out what Eddie had only dreamed of, and Eddie shut him down because what-he was scared? Wasn’t he done being scared? What had just happened with his mother proved to him that he had it within himself to face down what daunted. He wants to date Richie. The past week has shown him he can still be good at his job while he’s involved with Richie if he just devotes himself a little more and strikes a balance.

“How would you feel about being secret boyfriends?” he says. “Just until the show is over, I mean. Then we can be non-secret boyfriends. Real boyfriends. Not that we wouldn’t be real boyfriends now, we’d still go on dates and stuff, we just wouldn’t tell the cast and crew. Except I’d probably tell Mike because he deserves to be in on it, it feels like the responsible thing to do.” He’s rambling, he knows he’s rambling, but he also can’t stop. 

Richie’s hand finds his once more. “I would be honored to be your secret boyfriend,” he says. “Your little sumthin' sumthin' on the side, your on the down low love monkey."

“Just until the show is over,” Eddie clarifies. “And no one is anyone’s love monkey.”

“I don’t think that’s true because when we get back to your apartment I’m going to climb you like a tree.”

“Not if you keep talking like that.”

“Aw, Eds, I know you can’t wait to get your hands on this banana.”

When they make it back to Eddie’s apartment, Bill is in the living room. “How did it go?” he asks, closing his book. “Anything exciting happen?”

Eddie and Richie look at each other. Then, without meaning to, they both burst out laughing. Bill looks at them in confusion. “So it was . . . bad? Good?” he says.

“It was fucking terrible,” Eddie responds. “Probably the most stressful show of my life.”

Bill looks concerned. “Oh god, is everyone safe?”

“Yeah, everyone’s fine,” Eddie says. “Can we talk about it in the morning? I‘ll let you know everything, I swear, but I can’t deal with it anymore right now.”

Bill nods and doesn’t push. “Go to bed,” he says. “Sleep it off.”

“Sleep isn’t the one who’s going to be getting off,” Richie says.

“Richie!” Eddie says furiously. He’s internally come to accept that this is just how it’s going to be, but he has to keep playing the game.

Once inside his room, he pushes Richie down on the bed. “We are going to have the dirtiest, filthiest sex ever,” he says. “I want to make Bill and everyone else who lives on the floor insanely uncomfortable. I’m going to say the nastiest things and you’re going to say them right back to me.” 

“Damn, I love this Eddie, your mom should show up randomly more often.”

Eddie glares at him. “Don’t ever say that again” he says, leaning down to suck on Richie’s bottom lip before sinking his teeth in.

True to his word, they have some of the most intense sex Eddie’s ever had before. He lets himself loose in a way he never has, free of the shame and burden of worrying if there was something wrong about this all. Because there was nothing wrong with being with Richie. There couldn’t be anything wrong with being with Richie.

Even though he’s exhausted Eddie still insists on showering after sex, because he feels truly disgusting. When he gets back into bed Richie pulls him close. After a moment he says, “Hey, Eds, guess what?”

“Don’t call me Eds,” Eddie responds. “And I’m not going to guess.”

“Fine, I’ll tell you. I just had incredible sex with my boyfriend, how cool is that?”

Eddie smiles. “I don’t know, I bet the sex I just had with my boyfriend was even better.”

“Who’s this boyfriend of yours? Is he hotter than me? Is he funnier than me?” Richie says in a fake outraged tone.

“Nah, he’s kind of a doofus. Terrible taste in clothes. Will not shut up, it’s incredible how much he talks.”

“Sounds like my kind of guy.”

“He’s my kind of guy too,” Eddie says, nestling his chin into Richie’s chest.

Richie snorts. “So soft,” he says.

“I am not soft! You’re soft!”

“I’m obviously a marshmallow. But you, underneath that angry little facade, you’re brimming with softness.”

“Take it back,” Eddie says. 

Richie starts lightly tickling his side. “Eddie Kaspbark is a big softie with emotions!” he says in a sing-song voice.

Eddie bats at him. “I will fight you! I will fight you, do you hear me?”

Richie just laughs and stops tickling, but keeps his hands at Eddie’s sides. “I promise I won’t tell anyone. It’ll be our secret.”

“Not soft,” Eddie mutters. “Not my fault you make me soft.”

"I make you soft? Thought I was good at making you hard."

"Not that kind of soft. Emotionally soft. On the inside and stuff. You know. Soft."

"You make me soft too," Richie says quietly.

Eddie doesn't respond further, instead drifting off. 

\-----

He wakes up early the next morning and goes into the kitchen to write his rehearsal report. Sending it out at seven am is just as good as sending it out at eleven pm; plus, he thinks he’s close enough with Mike by now he could explain the circumstances to him. After he finishes and sends it off he starts pulling together the ingredients for pancakes. He’s in the midst of mixing the batter when Bill makes his way into the room.

“Morning,” Eddie says, rather cheerfully.

“Morning,” Bill mumbles. “Do we have coffee?” 

“No, but I can make some,” Eddie says, grabbing the used pour over out of the sink and setting it up for Bill.

They’re quiet for a moment while Eddie mixes ingredients. Then Bill says, “I’m very happy that things are going well between you and Richie, but Jesus Christ can you keep it down next time?”

Eddie looks at him and just snorts. “No, probably not,” he says.

Bill sighs heavily. “At least for not as long? And less full of . . . talking,” he says. 

“We’ll try,” Eddie says, pouring coffee grounds into Bill’s pour over.

“No, you won't,” Bill tells him.

Eddie smiles to himself. “No, we won’t,” he says.

Eddie goes back to stirring in ingredients. Breaking the silence, Bill says, “Do you want to talk about what happened at the show?”

Eddie decides to just bite the bullet. He hasn’t told Bill everything, but enough that he’ll understand why the situation was close to catastrophic. “My mom showed up.”

Bill blinks at him. “Like . . . your mom mom? The one you don’t talk to?”

“The only mother I have. Unfortunately,” Eddie says.

“Did she make a scene?” Bill asks.

“Kind of. She said a bunch of shit to me, tried to get me to go back to Maine with her. I didn’t, obviously, but it wasn’t fun. I’m just hoping she never bothers me again.”

“Eddie, I’m really sorry that happened, that sounds terrible.”

“Yeah, I didn’t really need my abusive mother crashing my show.” He stops what he’s doing and rounds on Bill. “Oh shit,” he says slowly. “That’s the first time I’ve ever called her abusive out loud. Holy shit. She really was abusive. She controlled what I ate and what medicine I took and where I went and the activities I was allowed to do. She would’ve kept me locked up in that house for the rest of my life if I let her.”

“You know you can talk to me about this kind of stuff, right?” Bill says. “Anytime.”

“I just hate talking about it,” Eddie says, pouring the pancake batter into the pan. “I hate who she tried to turn me into and I hate how she makes me feel. So better to just not think about it. Until she fucking showed up and I had to think about it.”

“Still. If you want to, you know. Process.”

“Thanks, Bill,” Eddie says.

Richie emerges into the kitchen, still in his boxers and t-shirt. He walks over to Eddie on the stove and drops a kiss on his cheek. “Is there coffee?” he asks, sitting down at the table next to Bill.

“Why does everyone here have a severe caffeine addiction?” Eddie asks.

“We’re artists; it goes with the territory,” Richie says. 

“That’s the douchiest possible thing you could have said,” Eddie responds. “And I’m not an artist.”

“Stage managing is an art,” Richie tells him. “You’ve got all those moving pieces to coordinate and shit.”

Eddie doesn’t respond to that, and instead presents Bill with his finished cup of coffee. “I’ll make you one too,” he tells Richie.

“I don’t want you to work for me,” Richie says.

“I’ll make it better than you would. Even though you won’t be able to tell with all the shit you put in it.”

“Prince of my heart,” says Richie, leaning back. “Now, tell me about your wild and wacky dreams, Bill.”

Bill and Richie talk while Eddie finishes up breakfast. When they’re all sitting down, Richie turns to Eddie. “Did you fill Billie Boy in on last night’s disaster spectacular?”

“Eddie told me,” Bill says. “Where were you in all of this?” he says, a shade too casual to be read as purely accusatory.

“He helped,” Eddie said. “He told her that her worldview was warped.” 

Bill starts laughing. “Oh my God, you didn’t,” he says. “Richie, don’t you have any idea of when to not talk?”

“I do, I just ignore it,” Richie says, digging into his pancakes. He turns to Eddie. “Do you have syrup?” he asks. 

“In the fridge,” Eddie tells him, and Richie gets up to grab it. “You want anything?” he calls out to Eddie. 

“All good, thanks,” Eddie responds. Richie returns and douses his pancakes in maple syrup. He looks over at Eddie’s plate, where he’s begun to segment his pancakes into neat squares. “Where's the syrup? Where's the butter?” he asks.

“I like my pancakes plain," says Eddie, taking the first bite. 

“Eddie, that’s fucking repulsive,” says Richie, sounding horrified. “What the fuck are pancake for if not syrup?”

“It’s too much sugar,” Eddie responds.

“Unfathomable. I didn't think you could ever disgust me, but this is a blow. My heart will recover though.” Richie starts digging into the sticky mess of his plate. “Anyway, Eddie’s mom was a bitch, Eddie chased her off, and now we never have to see her again.” He pauses, chewing thoughtfully. “Although she was kind of hot.”

Eddie makes a horrified gagging noise. “That’s by far the worst thing you've ever said.”

“She’s related to you, how couldn’t she be? Those Kaspbrak genes.”

“Stop it,” Eddie says. “Stop it now or I swear to God.”

“I’d fuck your mom for sure,” Richie says between a mouthful of pancake.

Eddie throws a piece off his plate at him. “You are so fucking gross,” he says. “And you’re never going to see my mom again because I think she's shocked enough by New York to never want to leave Maine ever again.”

Richie turns to Bill. “Do you have a hot mom who's on the market?”

“Stay away from my mother,” Bill says. “She’s been through enough.”

They go through the rest of breakfast easily, Eddie opening up a little more to both of them about what his childhood was like, telling Bill many things for the first time. Richie can’t help but make some dumb jokes but for the most part they’re both sympathetic. They finish up, Eddie going to rinse the dishes while Bill helps.

Richie stretches up from the table. “Time for me to head home. I’ve got a shift this afternoon.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Eddie says, wiping his hands.

Standing by the door. Richie turns to him. He looks almost nervous. “I was thinking,” he starts. “That, if you’re free next Saturday, I mean during the day because we have the show at night, we could go on a date. Like, I could take you out on a date.”

“Do you really think I’ll say no to that?” Eddie asks. “Last time I checked, going on dates was part of dating.”

“Always important to get consent,” Richie says. “So is that a yes?”

Eddie twines his fingers around his neck and pulls him down to kiss him. “Obviously it’s a yes,” he says when he pulls away. 

Richie beams “Great, I’ll come up with a whole plan,” he says, opening the door. “I swear you won’t be disappointed.”

“I’ll keep my expectations high,” Eddie says. 

Richie swoops in for one more quick kiss. “See you soon, Eddie my love,” he says, and then he heads down the hallway. Eddie watched him walk away, smiling faintly to himself. 

When he comes back to the kitchen Bill is still at the table nursing his coffee. 

“Okay, I know you’re just going to shut me down, but I just have to say it again: you two are dating. Everything you do seems like you’re in a couple. So I think you need to have that conversation with him.”

“It seems like we’re a couple because we are a couple,” Eddie says smugly. “Made it official last night.”

Bill looks shocked for a moment before grinning wildly. “Eddie, that’s so great! God, I can’t believe you made it here. You hated him two months ago. And now you’re dating him.”

“Isn’t it funny how life works sometimes,” Eddie says happily, retaking his seat at the table and the remnants of his mug.

“What about the show though? I know how concerned you’ve been about that.”

“We’re going to keep it on the down low for now. Except from Mike, because I think Mike deserves to know. Fuck,” Eddie says. “I really don’t want to have that conversation with him.”

“I don’t think it will be as bad as you’re expecting.”

“You’re right, things have only been bad so far when I haven’t expected them.” He glances at the clock on his phone. “It’s late enough, and I need to get this over with.”

“It’s going to be fine,” Bill says encouragingly.

Eddie dumps the dregs of his coffee in the sink and goes back to his bedroom. He pulls up Mike’s contact and lets the phone ring.

He’s incredibly nervous. Even after the conversation he and Mike had he’s continuing to behave unprofessionally. But he hopes Mike will remember his work over the past week and understand he still has the show as a priority, even if he’s dating one of the actors. He can’t help the happy little him that passes through him at that thought. Dating. He’s dating Richie. 

Mike picks up after a couple of rings. “Hey, what’s up?” he asks.

Eddie swallows. “I wanted to update you on something. Me and Richie have started dating. You know, officially. We’re not really going to broadcast that but I wanted to let you know.”

There's a long beat before Mike responds. “Okay,” he says slowly. “That’s okay.”

Eddie’s taken aback. “You’re not . . . upset?” he asks. Mike didn’t sound happy, but he wasn’t chastising him.

“I would rather you guys had never gotten involved in the first place, but two people dating is better than two people sleeping together in an ambiguous way. This past week, you ran the tightest tech I’ve ever been in. I trust that you can be good at your job even with Richie as a factor, especially if there’s some stability to your relationship.”

Eddie feels an immense sense of relief. “That’s really good to hear,” he says. “And he let me know why he was late on Monday; it was an actual emergency, I don’t think I can tell you what happened because it’s not my business, but it wasn’t Richie just blowing things off.”

“I trust that,” Mike says. “In the end, he worked hard enough the rest of the time when he was in the room he made up for it. I think with some time you guys will just make each other better at your jobs instead of worse. After the start of the week, you were both so sharp.”

“Thanks, Mike,” Eddie says, relieved. 

“I’d work with you again after this,” Mike says. “I don’t really have a stage manager who I have a consistent working relationship with and I think we make a pretty good team.”

It’s true. Eddie’s good at listening closely to what Mike has to say and letting him work through beats, but also good at snapping him out of it when he’s taking too long. And Mike listens to him, listens when he brings him back to task and when he makes suggestions about the feasibility of different moments. Not all directors Eddie had worked with had taken his comments seriously, which frustrated him to no end. Mike was open, and easy to work with, and Eddie could see them continuing to make art together. He’s glad that he hasn’t derailed their professional relationship, that he was able to bounce back from his temporary lapse.

“We should get a drink next week,” Mike says. “Talk about what we’re going to do next.”

“You know the stage manager doesn’t usually have a say in that, right?”

“I want you to have one. A show is better when everyone is invested in the material. We should all be given the opportunity to make the art that moves us.”

“You're a good friend,” says Eddie without meaning to.”

“So are you,” Mike responds. “I’m glad I met you.”

“Same here.”

They hang up and Eddie stretches across his bed. Tomorrow he’ll go back to work, but that’s okay with him. Maybe he’ll stop by Richie’s bar afterwards and wrestle control of the aux cord away from him. Or he’ll see if Stan wants to walk around Central Park and do a bit of urban bird spotting. He has all day, and right now, everything’s going fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Secret boyfriends! !
> 
> Also, in a hilarious turn of events, after railing against it for so long, I'm moving to Bushwick next week! Is it possible my affection for the neighborhood grew as I was writing this story, just like Eddie's has? Perhaps. Either way I'm very excited!!


	12. the only and biggest fraud

They have Monday and Tuesday off from the show and as much as it pains Eddie he and Richie decide to spend those days apart. It’s ridiculous that it pains him, because it’s what, seventy two hours? A totally normal time for two people to be away from each other. But he still misses him in that time, still texts him throughout his day.

Eddie is ridiculously excited when he comes into the theater on Wednesday night. He knows that nothing will actually change in the space because their new relationship is a development that only three people in the room know about, but that doesn’t make it any less real to Eddie. He feels a palpable change in his energy when Richie walks into the room. He barely resists the urge to pull Richie into a stairwell and kiss him senseless because he’s his boyfriend now and that’s the kind of shit boyfriends are allowed to do. Stage managers, however, aren’t, so he restrains himself.

They go home together after Wednesday’s and Thursday’s performances, but Richie insists they each go back to their own places on Friday. “We have a date tomorrow,” he says. “It doesn’t count as a date if you roll out of bed and go there together. Ideally, I would pick you up on your doorstep with my hair slicked back and a bouquet of roses, but my hair looks stupid slicked back and I’m not fucking going all the way to Harlem just to go back down, and I’m not getting you flowers because it’d be weird if you come to show call with a bouquet. So instead, we’ll just have to meet at the determined time and place sans accessories.”

That time and place has been left totally up to Richie. He still claims that Eddie hasn’t experienced enough of New York yet, and wants to show him what he’s been missing out on. Eddie bristles at the suggestion he hadn’t known how to have fun before he met Richie, but he kind of didn’t. In a way, he’s grateful he never experienced these adventures on his own before this, because this way he has Richie to show him and share it with him.

Richie tells him to meet at Union Square Park, and not much else. Eddie puts some amount of an effort into his outfit; he’s trying to strike a balance between fashionable and chill. He takes the train downtown, tapping nervously at his thigh the whole time.

He doesn’t know why this stresses him out, considering he and Richie are already dating at this point. When he forces himself to examine his anxiety more deeply with the coping mechanisms the counselor he’d gone to for two semesters in college taught him he recognizes he’s feeling anxious about the actualization of his desires, and whether or not he’ll be able to handle that. They’re dating now, sure, but they haven’t really had the chance to enact that in front of the world. In the past, dates had generally been awkward for him, small talk and avoidance of the deeper emotional truths. He hopes it will be different with Richie, but what if it isn’t? They were good before, when there wasn't a label on what they were doing, but labels change things. What if he just isn't cut out to be someone’s boyfriend? Their new relationship had felt good so far, but this was pushing things to a different level.

He gets off the subway and scans for Richie. There’s a farmers’ market set up, people bustling around between stand with slabs of meat and bushels of produce, and he’s worried he won’t be able to see him.

But he’s not hard to find, standing out in his always too bright shirt. Beyond that, Eddie sees the way he’s standing, slouching a little with his hands in his pockets, and he knows him, knows that he could be no one other than Richie with a deep certainty. He waves when he sees Eddie, clumsily and too big. Eddie grins. He’s so fucking happy to see him.

He walks over to him and looks up at his handsome stupid face. “Hey,” he says, feeling his nerves turn into an entirely different type of tension as he stares up at Richie. He doesn't know if he’s allowed to kiss him in public but he wants to, wants to pull his face down toward his.

Richie makes that choice for him. He swoops down and kisses Eddie in an almost indiscernible peck, a quick smack of the lips. It still makes Eddie go red all over.

“Sorry, I know I should get my sugar at the end of the date, but you just look so damn cute I couldn't help myself.” He pauses for a second. “Fuck, wait, is PDA okay? Shit, I should've asked, I’m sorry-”

“No, it’s fine,” Eddie reassures him. “Not all the time, and nothing too much, but that was okay. That was more than okay.”

Richie smiles down at him and Eddie is filled with the knowledge that Richie likes him just as he likes the other man. It’s overwhelming, these surges of reciprocal affection. Eddie doesn't know if he’s ever felt like this before.

Richie cuts off his increasingly sappy train of thought. “So,” he says, gesturing out to the area around him. “There’s a farmer’s market here, which we could check out, but I don’t really want to cart around a bunch of greens, especially since I'm not going to use them because I don’t know how to cook. But I thought we could take a stroll if you wanted.”

Eddie eyes the awnings of the breezy white tents, people bustling between different root vegetables and loaves of bread. On another morning he’d love to spend hours going through the stalls, maybe with Stan and Patty, examining every rutabaga and tasting different types of honey. But this wasn’t the morning for that. So instead he turns to Richie and says “What else did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was thinking . . . do you like books?”

“Of course I like books, Richie, you’ve been in my room.”

“It’s good to be clear on this shit, you know. Make sure we’re on the same _page_ ,” he says, throwing in an exaggerated wink, to which Eddie just rolls his eyes. “But yeah, there’s this really cool bookstore around here, if you wanna go.” 

“Yeah, absolutely,” Eddie says, and they head off.

They walk down the bustling New York streets, pedestrians rushing by them with over-sized bags and cabs honking in the background. Richie slows down so it's less like he’s leading Eddie, and more like they're just walking together. Eddie usually hates couples who take up the whole sidewalk with their two person bulk, but he’s never before had someone he wanted to pay such complete attention to. So he keeps beside Richie, looking at the side of his face while he talks.

They see red awnings in the distance with big white block letters that say the Strand. Richie whoops. “They’ve got so many books Eds, you’re not even gonna believe it, rare books and hot off the press books and just tons of shit. C’mon!”

“Honestly, I didn't know you were this into books,” Eddie says.

“I didn’t used to be,'' Richie responds. “I never had the patience for them as a kid. But then Ben moved in, and he just started loaning me shit. I started a _Confederacy of Dunces_ and I was hooked. Now, when I have the time, I just burn through them.”

“I read a lot when I was a kid because it was something my mom approved of.” says Eddie. “She said TV would rot my brain, even though she made me watch her soaps with her every night. She barely let me have access to the internet until high school. And she said comics were immoral and too violent. But books were okay. Not all of them, but the ones she allowed. She only let the most boring shit into the house; she was a big fan of me reading about US history, mostly stuff which in retrospect I think was propaganda. But after a while she stopped coming with me to the library and I started getting whatever I wanted. I put other covers on them, so even if she found them she’d think I was reading about different poisonous plant species and how to avoid them.” 

“My little badass, breaking the rules to read dirty literature. I presume it was dirty.”

“No, it was Ray Bradbury, which I think she would've hated if she understood anything about it.”

Eddie stops on the way to look at the one and two dollar racks outside, but Richie tugs him past them. “All the good shit is inside,” he whines. “It takes forever to find stuff here.” 

“Maybe if you had a little patience,” Eddie says, but lets himself be dragged through the doors.

Once they get inside the store Eddie is overwhelmed. He hates to give Richie any points but he’s amazed he’s lived in New York for this long and never been here. It’s a dizzying three stories of books, filled to the brim with customers. He doesn't even know where to start but Richie apparently does. He relinquishes his grip on Eddie's hand and dives into the back. 

“They’ve got the greatest selection of sci-fi books,” Richie says. “Like, stuff that’s out of print.” He stops short in front of a bookcase and starts thumbing through the titles. He pulls out a book with a many tentacled outer space creature on the cover and holds it up to Eddie, beaming. “Can you believe it?” 

“I can, because it's in front of me,” Eddie says. He takes the book from his hands, reading the description on the back. “I didn’t know you were into sci-fi."

“Oh, yeah,” Richie says, taking the book back from him. “Have been since I was yea high. I wanted to go to space so badly when I was a kid.” He looks around. “Shit, I got over excited, we don’t have to be in this little back part. What do you want to look at?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie says, surveying the tall ceilinged room. He doesn't even know where to start. He has so many things he wants to read about, and now he can’t think of a single one. So, going off the first thing that comes to mind, he says, “Statistics. Probability.”

“That would be the basement,” Richie says, moving forward. “Allow me.”

He takes Eddie downstairs, which impresses Eddie with his knowledge of this place, until he promptly gets them lost trying to find the statistics books. Richie refuses to ask an employee for help, but instead becomes more and more invested in his Lewis and Clark bit, adventuring through the stacks. Eddie eventually asks a salesperson for directions while trying to ignore Richie pointing and then exclaiming different directions every five second.

They get to the statistics section and Eddie scans the titles. He sees a copy of _The Signal and the Noise_ , and begins thumbing through it.

“Did you know that there were 30% more plays produced on Broadway than musicals in the past ten years?”

“What are you, a nerd?” Richie says, trying to lean against one of the bookshelves. Instead he just pushes some of the books off and stumbles. Eddie snorts. 

“I like knowing about things,” he says. “And numbers are an easy way to understand things. Numbers and percentages breaks things down, makes them renderable.” He opens the book, finding colorful diagrams and graphs. He flips through the pages slowly, tracing his fingers down them a little bit.

“Boring,” Richie days. “I’m going to go upstairs with the real people.” He leaves Eddie alone, heading back up the staircase.

Eddie should be miffed at being seemingly abandoned on his date, but he’s not. He didn't know this existed and Richie showed it to him. And now he was giving him the space to dive into it to his heart's content.

Eventually, he feels like he’s had his fill and, after choosing the two books that seem most interesting, heads upstairs to find Richie. He wanders around for a little bit before finding him tucked far into a corner. He’s perusing the literature section, face intently bent towards one of the lower shelves. Eddie thinks about sneaking up behind him to scare him but that's really more Richie’s territory than his. So instead he pokes him in the side, as juvenile as that is.

Richie looks up at him and smiles “Hey,” he says, holding a copy of _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas_ between his hands. “Find anything?”

“Yeah, lots, but I also have to eat, so I’m holding myself back,” Eddie says. He looks down at Richie, who seems to have accumulated a pile of paperbacks. “You?”

“I’m probably gonna ditch half of these all around this place and really annoy the people who work here, but I found a ton of shit. Just have to weigh my options now.” He turns his attention book to the book in his hand, flipping it to read the back cover. 

“Why are you so into novels?” Eddie asks.

“I like characters,” Richie responds. “I like hearing about how people operate, how they tick and how they respond. Sometimes books are the best way to do that. You get right inside someone’s thoughts, or even if you don’t, you get this different sort of description of them. Books have to work harder to make the physical real inside your head and there’s so much you can learn from that.”

"So basically more ways you can use your craft to manipulate the audience."

“And how to manipulate the people around me,” Richie says. “I’ve been pulling the strings all along, you just haven't noticed.”

“You’re way too big of a goof to be a calculating mastermind.”

They make their way to the checkout aisle, which is annoyingly long. While in line, Richie gets distracted by the t-shirt display, and insists on getting matching Pokey Little Puppy shirts for them, even though Eddie claims he’ll never wear his. When they get to the front of the line Richie tries to buy Eddie’s books, which Eddie fights him on. “It still counts as a date if you don't pay for every little thing,” he says. “This is not a requirement.” They reach a compromise where Richie buys one of the books for Eddie.

Richie buys a little tote bag too, into which they pile all their purchases. They just stand there in the spring air for a moment before Eddie turns to Richie and says, “What’s next?”

“Is there a timetable I don’t know about?'' Richie says. “A schedule you're keeping me on? Five until end of break,” he says in what Eddie thinks is an imitation of him.

“Fuck right off,” Eddie responds. “You insisted on coordinating every part of this, it’s not my fault I need to turn to you."

“It’s an exercise of trust,” Richie says. “Letting me be your guide in this dark, confusing world.”

“I’m my own guide, thank you very much,” Eddie says. “But I'll let you lead me on the next part of this date.”

Richie takes him further south until they hit a yellow awninged store with red letters that proclaim it as NYC’s Creperies. “I didn’t know if you liked crepes,” Richie said. “But then I figured, hey, everyone likes crepes! Since they are _tres bon_ ,” he says in his French accent. He winces. “Sorry, I should stop assuming what you’re going to like and instead have just actually asked your input but I had this dumb idea about stuff being a surprise.”

“I mean, you’re right, who doesn’t like crepes?” Eddie says, trying to sound jokey. When Richie doesn't say anything he reaches his hand out and gives it a squeeze. “It’s been really nice so far, Richie,” he says earnestly. “Crepes just make it better."

Richie smiles, seemingly relieved. Eddie marvels at the other man’s capacity to be nervous. It should be Eddie all flustered and unsure, Richie cool and in control because he’s the one who knows what he’s doing here. But it seems Richie’s just as conscious of the significance as Eddie is, over every brush of their shoulders and smiles out of the corner of their eyes.

Eddie goes to order a lemon sugar crepe and Richie snorts. “What?” Eddie says, shooting him a look.

“That's the most boring crepe there is. That’s the beige of crepes,” he says. “That’s just a sour pancake.”

“Alright, what are you going to get?” Eddie asks.

Richie steps forward to the window. “Strawberries and nutella, whipped cream, extra chocolate drizzle,” he says. “And for my gentleman companion.” He leans in and murmurs in Eddie's ear, “Whatever you want, baby, it’s all on the table.” Eddie shivers. He really wishes Richie hadn’t turned crepes sensual but now he wants something decadent, wants to indulge. 

“I’ll have a one with bananas and nutella,” he says. “And extra, extra whipped cream. And peanuts,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Though you were allergic to nuts,” Richie says. 

“I’m allergic to cashews,” Eddie responds. “At least, I think? Fuck, maybe I’m not allergic to cashews.”

“You know what nuts you aren’t allergic to?” Richie says

Eddie, sensing where he’s going, groans. “Please stop,” he says.”

“Deez nuts!” Richie shouts at a loud enough volume that, if they were anywhere other than New York, people would look at them.

“I hate you,” Eddie says.”

“Love you too, Eddie Spaghetti,” and Eddie instantly turns bright red.

Love. Did Richie mean anything by it? He says shit like that all the time, just throwing it into the air. He loves Bev, he loves Mike, he loves the train that comes on time and the full tip jar at the end of the night. But that doesn’t mean he loves Eddie. Like that, at least. 

Richie seems to not have noticed what he said, or at least not to have thought much of it. Instead he’s scooping two whipped cream covered bundles from the shop window. “You know what would make this whipped cream better? If I was eating it off your chest,” he says. 

“If you’re lucky, maybe I’ll let you lick it off my fingers,” Eddie says, and has the satisfaction of seeing Richie get all flustered for once. 

Richie leads him down until they eventually hit Washington Square Park. Eddie stops. The white arch rises majestically towards the sky, the drifting saxophone just adding to the atmosphere. He remembers one night right after he first moved here, he and Riley stumbling drunk in the dark through the park (or at least Riley was drunk), talking about the meaning of Dada in the modern world, until someone yelled at them to shut the fuck up and they couldn’t stop laughing. He tells Richie about that as they enter the park, heading down the tree lined paths.

“I used to smoke weed all the time here in college,” Richie says. “Shocked I never got caught.”

“I told you, cops don’t really care about that,” Eddie says. 

“Yeah, but I was really fucking stupid,” Richie responds.”Like, shouting about how high I was and blasting Pink Floyd.”

Eventually they find a spot that Eddie deems acceptable. A slight look if panic crosses Richie’s face. “Shit, I didn’t bring anything for us to sit down on, we can just go sit on one of the benches if you want.” 

But today Eddie doesn’t mind feeling a little dirty. He has a pair of pants at Richie’s, so even if they don’t go back to his he’ll have clean clothes for tomorrow. So instead he double checks that the ground is free of anything disgusting and relatively flat, then settles down. “That’s why washing machines were invented,” he says. “Besides, it won’t show up on you at all, I know for a fact you don’t wash your jeans.”

“It’s true, I’m continually grimy,” says Richie, plopping down next to him. He starts digging into his crepe, using the fork to scoop the whipped cream straight off the top. Then he abandons the fork and dives straight in with his mouth. Eddie stares at him a little. He can’t tell if Richie is trying to make it obscene or if he’s just really, really into whipped cream. He catches Eddie looking and smirks. Now Eddie knows he’s trying to make it dirty, because he licks off a dollop of whipped cream with just the tip of his tongue. Eddie breathes a little heavily for a second before composing himself.

“We are in public,” he says, flicking a dollop of whipped cream at him. “If you’re going to be like this, we’ll just get some whipped cream for the bedroom. Or maybe the bathroom, because I’m not getting whipped cream in bed.”

“We can do it in my bed, I don’t give a shit,” Richie says.

“Only if we wash the sheets right after,” Eddie acquiesces. 

They sit there long after they’ve finished their crepes, talking and swapping stories. Eddie learns more and more details about Richie’s childhood and youth, the movies he likes and his eclectic interests. They sit there until Eddie’s backside is sore and his knees are stiff. He checks the time and sees they’re getting close to show call. He stretches out and offers a hand to Richie. 

“C’mon, it’s time to get to the theater,” he says. Richie takes his hand and springs up. “Another night, another magical spell to cast over the audience,” he says.

They’re heading out of the park when Eddie hears someone call out, “Oh my god, Richie!” A woman is springing up from her spot in the grass and making her way towards them. As she draws closer Eddie sees she’s blonde and beautiful, and smiling radiantly at Richie.

“It’s so good to see you,” she says, flinging her arms around him. “It’s been what, a year?”

Richie returns the hug slightly less enthusiastically while Eddie stands there. When he pulls away he says, “Yeah, the last time I think we saw each other was at Matty’s birthday party.”

“Well, it’s been too long,” the woman says, stepping back. “When did we get so old?”

“As a wise scholar once said, the years start coming and they don’t stop coming,”

The woman snorts. “Can’t believe you still think Shrek lyrics are a good way to communicate,” she says.

Eddie begins to shift around. He may not be the greatest at reading people but he senses the energy this woman is extending towards Richie, the way she’s looking at him.

Richie picks up on Eddie’s discomfort and turns to him. “Eds, this is Sandy, we know each other from Julliard.”

”Mostly we know each other from dating for three years,” she says. “I was the ex that tried to dye his hair purple and it ended up teal, I don’t know if he’s told you that story.” 

“There's lots of Richie stories I haven’t heard,” says Eddie, because he doesn’t know how else to respond. 

Richie looks clearly uncomfortable. “And Sandy, this is my friend Eddie,” Richie says.

Eddie, already feeling off kilter, now feels like his stomach just dropped to his feet. That word rolled so easily off of Richie’s tongue. He didn’t even need to think about it. He feels a sense of shock that Richie reduced their relationship like that. He wants to correct him, assert his importance in Richie’s life. He's not Richie’s friend, he's his fucking boyfriend.

Sandy shoots a smile at him. “So nice to meet you, Eddie.'' Then she turns back towards Richie. “We should get a drink sometime! I’m still uptown, but I can come to Brooklyn.”

“Cool, sounds good,” Richie responds. “Just, uh, hit me up.”

She gives him one more hug, then waves at Eddie. “See you later!” she calls out, and heads back to her friends. 

Richie and Eddie stand there a moment in an awkwardness that wasn't there before. Richie looks like he wants to say something but he doesn’t. Then Eddie says, “Let’s go find the train.”

The walk there is quiet. Eddie doesn't know what to say. Everything that's coming to mind is either accusatory or insecure sounding. Sitting on the benches of the train, it’s Richie that breaks the silence.

“I’m sorry that was so weird,” he says. “Sandy has never been the best at picking up on social cues.”

“Yeah, makes sense why you got along,” Eddie says bitingly. He knows it’s not fair to punish Richie for having dated someone once. That’s not really why he’s angry.

Richie doesn’t respond, for once making the intelligent decision not to engage.

“Why didn’t you introduce her as your ex?” Eddie asks. “Were you just gonna hide it from me?”

“No, I just didn’t want to make it more uncomfortable than it already was. I was going to tell you as soon as we were alone.”

“Okay,” Eddie says, trusting what he says is true, as hard as that is for him. 

“She’s still into you, you know,” Eddie says after a pause. 

“Yeah, and I’m not into her,” Richie says. “We broke up because she saw a future for us and I didn't, and nothing has changed that. So you don’t need to worry.”

”I’m not worried!” Eddie says loudly, grateful that no one is ever paying attention. “I just don’t want you to dismiss what I saw. She obviously wants to get back together with you and you didn’t really do anything to dissuade her of that possibility.”

“I was clearly uninterested! I gave her no signals, because I’m with you.”

“Are you though?” says Eddie sarcastically. Richie draws back.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“You called me your friend! Not your boyfriend, your friend!” Eddie doesn't have the words to articulate how his world came crashing down in that moment. Even though being boyfriends seemed real, it isn’t. They’d been playing a pretend relationship and he’d been blind to convince himself otherwise. He’d sent most of his young life forcing himself to hide what he wanted and who he was, and now he was doing it again. Only this time he was being forced into this position by external forces rather than his own repression.

“Because that’s what we decided, what you told me you wanted,” Richie says. “I asked you out and you said only if it was a secret.”

“I meant from the cast and crew. Because it’s obviously not a secret if Bill knows, and Bev knows, and Patty knows.”

“Sandy definitely knows some of the people of the show, she’s been doing theater here just as long as I have. Maybe it wouldn't get back to them, and maybe it would. You said you didn’t want people to know we were dating. I was just trying to do what you asked.” Richie sounds sad and small.

Eddie feels shame creeping into him. He did tell Richie to keep this a secret. He’s being illogical because, even though he thought that’s what he wanted, it turns out he hates it. He hates Richie not saying they were together, he hates that they can't be open with the world. Maybe it was fun earlier but this has soured it, cheapened what was really between them. Their relationship couldn’t be real, not entirely, because nothing has changed for people outside their social circle. Th people they worked with thought that Richie and Eddie coworkers, friends if anything. He’d felt in the past week like things had shifted, but that had just been in his own head. He’s not allowing the full scope for this relationship to unfold. And now he’s blaming Richie because it turns out he’s not getting what he wants.

“I’m sorry,” he says to Richie. “You’re right, you were just doing what I said we should do. I don’t know, she was just really pretty, and she seemed really into you.”

“Which doesn’t matter, because I’m really into you. I don’t think there’s anyone prettier than you in this whole city, this whole fucking world. I want to be with you, not Sandy, not anyone else. Just you. And if you don’t want anyone to know I won’t tell anyone. If you let me I’d shout it from the rooftops because I’m so fucking happy to be your boyfriend, but I want you to feel good about this.”

Eddie leans into him. “I do feel good, and I don’t want things to be a secret,” he says. “But I also don’t want everyone to think I’m not taking my job seriously, because I am, I’m just dating you too.”

“I get it,” Richie says. “Whatever makes you comfortable, that’s what we’ll do.”

“But I don’t want you to feel like I’m hiding you,” Eddie says. “I’m not ashamed of you. And I wish things were different, I really do, but they’re not. At least, not now. You know this won't be forever, right?”

“No, I know,” Richie says. “I get it, I really do. And I know I give less of a shit because I have less on the line that you do but I want to respect that. I respect you.”

“I respect you too,” Eddie says. “And I’m sorry I got weird. I just . . . I guess I have some issues about you having more experience than me. I‘ve never had a real, adult relationship, and I’m scared shitless that I'm doing something wrong.”

“Ten out of ten so far,” Richie says. “No complaints from this satisfied boyfriend. Not to give myself too many props, but truly one of the better dates I’ve been on.”

“I had a really good time,” Eddie says. “Even though I'm never be able to get the image of you with a whipped cream mustache out of my head. And not in a sexy way,” he adds quickly as he sees Richie gearing up to make a joke. “You looked like Borat.”

They regain some of their easiness on the rest of the ride to the theater but Eddie is still disquieted. For the first time he thinks longingly of when the show will end.

He’s subdued as he goes through his pre-show checklist. Richie disappeared into the back when they got to the theater, and Eddie feels disconnected from him, thinking about him laughing and joking with the actors, lying about what he did with his day.

The show runs smoothly; they've been doing this for long enough that Mike doesn’t feel the need to be in the audience anymore, and it’s truly Eddie’s show now. He brings them through it gracefully, but a little detached from the whole proceedings. When it ends he’s relieved.

He’s finishing up doing his show reset when Richie texts him. 

_has everyone cleared out of the theater_

he asks

Eddie texts back,

**Yeah, the stagehands just left**

_cool im coming to the booth_

Richie responds.

Eddie waits a little before Richie announces himself with a knock on the door. He lets Richie inside, and the other man surveys the interior.

“Good show,” he says to Eddie. 

“Yeah, you too,” Eddie responds. Richie’s throwing off some kind of weird energy, but it’s not bad. Eddie feels like he’s on the precipice of something.

Richie turns to him. “Have you ever fucked in a theater?” Richie asks.

Eddie chokes, then flushes a deep red. “No, Jesus, when would that have ever come up in my life? Besides, that seems like a terrible idea. Why, have you?” he asks. 

Richie takes a step closer to him. “No, never. I’ve never done that with anyone before.”

Eddie swallows hard. “Okay?” he says questioningly.

Richie moves even closer. “And I want to do it with you. I want to fuck you in this booth.”

Eddie feels his flush deepen further. “We can’t do that, what if someone sees?” he says.

“All the actors are gone, all the stage hands are gone,” Richie says. “It’s just you and me. No one without a key can get backstage or in this booth. No one would ever know.”

Eddie shivers. “It would be unprofessional,” he says, trying to ignore how increasingly turned on he’s becoming.

“Not really,” Richie says. “Will this have an impact on how you do your job? You’re not going to suddenly forget the show because you got railed in the booth one time.” Richie’s so close to him now, looking down on him. “We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he says. “But I’ve always wanted to fuck someone in a theater, and I want it to be you. I’m glad I’ve never done it before because you’re the one I’d want to do it with. Everything I haven't done before, I want to do with you. Everything I have done I want to do again with you.”

Eddie wants to. He wants to so badly. He’s never had sex outside his own home before and the idea of Richie fucking him in here is hotter than he thought imaginable. Just another hangup that Richie has managed to overcome. So he leans in and kisses him. “Okay,” he whispers when he pulls away. 

Richie looks a little thunderstruck for a moment. “Really?” he says. “God, I really hoped you’d go for that, but I had no expectations.”

“I want you,” Eddie says. “I want you to fuck me up against this counter.” 

Richie looks at him with naked desire in his eyes before leaning back in to kiss him hungrily. He walks Eddie backwards until he's against the edge of the counter. Then he grabs Eddie by the ass and deposits him on the surface. Eddie wraps his legs around Richie’s hips and his arms around his shoulders as he continues kissing him. Eddie loses himself in the feel of Richie's mouth on his, the familiarity that does nothing to lessen the thrill. 

They strip each other's shirts off fairly quickly, feeling their naked chests brush up against each other. Eddie doesn't move to take his jeans off yet. He likes the friction of Richie grinding down on him, likes feeling how he’s straining in his pants. He kisses down his jaw and moves towards his chest, brushing his thumb over one of Richie’s nipples.

Richie reaches a hand down and starts palming him through his jeans. Eddie groans. Now he wants more, needs more. “Touch me, Richie, please,” he whispers.

“I can’t say no to that voice,” Richie responds and tugs down his zipper, slipping a hand inside of his boxers. Eddie moans. Richie’s hand feels heavenly on his dick, grasping him firmly. He strokes up and down a little bit but Eddie wants more. So he pulls away and tugs down his jeans, ungracefully kicking them off. Richie’s hand returns to his dick and Eddie leans in to nip and suck lightly on his neck.

Eventually Eddie is painfully hard. He pulls away from Richie and asks “Do you have supplies?”

Richie’s eyes widen for a moment before he lets out a distinctly unsexy groan. “Fuck, I did not plan that far ahead,” he says. “This really was a spur of the moment choice.”

“Do I have to do everything myself?” Eddie asks. He hops out and goes to his stage manager's kit, rummaging around. He triumphantly pulls out a condom and a bottle of lotion. “Knew I’d have something,” he says.

“Why the fuck do you have a condom in your kit?” Richie asks. “Oh my god, have you been planning this?”

“No, they’re just good to have. You never know.”

“What, were you a boy scout or something?” Richie says.

“Yeah, be a little more grateful right now,” Eddie says, walking back over.

“Trust me, if I could say thank you to past Eddie for packing condoms, I’d be kissing the ground at his feet. I’d kiss the ground at your feet now if you want.” Richie’s eyes rake over his exposed body. “You’re so fucking hot,” he says. “Every time I see your dick I can’t fucking believe something so perfect is real.”

Eddie goes in and kisses him, sliding their bodies together. He grabs Richie's hands and brings them to his ass. Richie, picking up the memo, gives it a little squeeze. He spins them around so Eddie’s back is to the counter once more. He kisses him before pulling back to whisper in his ear, “Turn around so I can make you feel good.”

Eddie turns his back to Richie and bends over the counter. He feels Richie gently begin to move his fingers into him, stretching Eddie out. He goes deeper and hits that spot inside of Eddie and Eddie lets out a deep moan. 

“I’ve got you,” Richie says. “Gotta get my baby ready.”

Eddie whines at the name baby. It’s so hot coming out of Richie’s lips. He finally has to acknowledge, at least to himself, that he loves the nicknames, loves the familiarity and the closeness he feels every time Richie calls him Eds.

He’s getting closer and he needs Richie to fuck him now. He pants out, “I need you inside me right now, I need all of you.” He’s never felt more needy in his life, wanting Richie to touche him all over until he can’t think.

Richie makes a strangled noise. He gently pulls his fingers away to wriggle out of his jeans. He rolls the condom down his own dick before pulling Eddie’s hips towards him. Eddie feels the hot press of Richie's skin on his, the slight sheen of sweat that should disgust him but just makes him more intune with the effect Richie is having on his body. He grinds against him, and Richie moans before reaching down to position himself. He starts pushing in and Eddie moves back against him, taking Richie fully. He bottoms out, letting out a soft little sigh, and then Richie begins to start moving in and out, dick pushing against Eddie’s walls, the initial stretch feeling so good. 

It's incredible, like it always is. Richie’s hands know where to grasp onto him, he knows how to thrust his hips up to find Eddie’s prostate. He feels himself getting lost in it.

“Look forward,” Richie says roughly. Eddie, in his haze, pulls his eyes forward. He sees the set outlines in dim light, the spread of the seating embankments.

“Next time you walk in here and see that stage, I want you to think about this,” Richie says. “Want you to think about me fucking you so hard you can’t think, how I make you feel.”

“Jesus Christ Richie, you make me feel so good,” Eddie gasps.

“I want to,” Richie replies. “God, that’s all I wanna do, make you feel good. Just you. Only you.” 

“Fuck me harder, please,” Eddie babbles out. “It feels amazing when you fuck me.”

Richie’s hips start moving harder, faster. He tangles his fingers in Eddie’s hair and Eddie likes it, likes the feeling of being held down and fucked by Richie, completely his.

“I’m gonna-I’m gonna come,” Richie says. "God, you're so fucking sexy."

“Please come in me,” Eddie moans out. “Please, Richie, I need you.” He’s feels exposed, so open about his desires and honest about Richie’s effect on him.

Richie’s grip on his hair tightens before he thrusts in deeply one last time before stilling. His grip loosens, and now he’s just combing his fingers through Eddie’s hair.

Eddie appreciates the breather but he’s still hard as hell. Luckily, Richie only takes a moment before he pulls out and deposits the condom in the trash can. 

“Your turn,” he says, and begins to crawl under the counter.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks. Richie’s head pops back up. “Blowing you. If that’s what you want.”

“Of course I want that,” Eddie says. “But why are you getting under there?”

“So you can keep looking the stage,” Richie says. “You made this noise when I said that, thought you were into it.”

“Yeah, but I’d rather look at you,” Eddie says. ”

Richie stares at him a moment, jaw a little slack, before surging up to kiss him. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you,” he says before dropping to his knees again. 

Eddie turns around so Richie’s face is flush with his dick. Richie leans in and licks a strip from the base to the tip before sinking his mouth down fully. Eddie can feel himself pressing down on Richie’s tongue, the wetness of his mouth. 

Richie begins moving up and down, and Eddie twines his fingers through Richie's hair. He gives it a little tug, bringing Richie deeper down onto his dick, and he feels Richie moan in a way that reverberates through him. Without meaning to, he bucks his hips forward.

Richie moans again before pulling off. “That was so fucking hot,” he says. “Please, Eds, please fuck my mouth.”

Hearing Richie say that has somehow made him even harder. “Okay,” Eddie agrees breathlessly. Richie returns to lavishing attention on his cock and Eddie tentatively moves his hips again. Richie grabs his ass and pulls him even deeper and Eddie continues to thrust into Richie’s mouth.

Richie’s mouth is hot and wet and Eddie doesn’t know if he’s ever felt this good. He looks down at Richie below him. His hair is an absolute mess and his glasses are a little fogged up. His lips look huge wrapped around Eddie’s dick, spit shining, and Eddie loves him.

He lets out an enormous gasp that he hopes Richie attributes to the excellent blow job he’s currently getting. Fuck. He loves Richie. He really, really does. He’s in love with him. He loves his smile and his stupid shirts and how he makes him feel. Eddie loves him. 

But he can’t say anything right now. Even if Richie feels the same way (and he can’t really consider that at the moment), mid blow job is the worst time to confess you love someone. So he concentrates on getting his dick sucked into oblivion. 

He doesn’t last much longer, coming down Richie’s throat with a strangled shout. Richie swallows down every drop, and Eddie watches his throat move. He loves that throat, loves the line of it, loves how it settles into Richie’s collarbone. He loves him.

He pulls Richie up and kisses him. He used to care about kissing someone after they just swallowed his cum, but when it's Richie, it somehow manages to turn him on. Because he loves him. He feels giddy and terrified and full to the point of bursting.

He still pulls himself away. “We should get out of here,” he says. “Your place or mine?”

“You wanna sleep together?” Richie asks.

“Yeah, why wouldn't we?” Eddie responds.

“Because we just, you know, slept together. Unless you’re looking to go again.”

“No, I just thought it would be nice to sleep in the same bed,” Eddie says, feeling his stomach drop. Maybe this wasn’t a thing boyfriends did. But he’d gotten used to falling asleep with Richie. He’d missed it last night and he’d been looking forward to it tonight. “I get if you just want to go home alone though.” 

“Why would I fucking want that? Sleeping in bed with you is the best way to sleep. I just didn’t know if you wanted that; I know sharing a bed isn’t your favorite thing.”

“I like it when it's you,” says Eddie and Richie shoots him a shy smile. “Where to?” he asks.

“Your place,” Eddie says. It’s been a while since he’s seen Ben; maybe he'll be around tomorrow morning. He thinks about the group he’s made with Richie, the group they share, and feels a rush of warmth. It was inconceivable to think that just two months ago all these people were missing from his life. He likes the life he’s made with them. With Richie. 

As they walk out of the theater Eddie considers his new found revelation. He doesn’t know if he’s ever been in love before but now he’s put a name to it it can’t be anything else. The joy he feels when Richie laughs, the glow he feels watching him work. He loves every bit of him and he doesn’t know what the fuck to do about now that he knows. 

He’s quieter than usual and Richie picks up on it. “You okay, Eds?” he asks, nudging him.

“Just all fucked out,” Eddie says as breezily as possible, and Richie laughs. 

Eddie locks up the doors and Richie reaches out his hand. “Time to go home,” he says, and they begin the walk to the train.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is winding down; the next chapter will just be a short epilogue.
> 
> I think there's something so intimate about going to a bookstore with someone and then going off to do your own thing.
> 
> Wanting to fuck in a work place is partially inspired by _The Office_ (Jim and Pam forever).


	13. that will end in a beautiful marriage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They close the show

Somehow, impossibly, they make it through a month of performances and no one seems to catch on to Richie and Eddie’s hidden relationship. On the nights they hang out with Mike they don’t bother hiding it, Richie slinging an arm around Eddie’s shoulder or leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. But in the theater they’re more professional with each other than they ever were before, Richie showing up on time every night and Eddie continuing to nail the shows.

The past month of dating, even though it’s been in secret, has been wonderful. They’re barely spent a night apart. Eddie pretty much has half of his wardrobe at Richie’s place, and vice versa. They hang out with their friends, grabbing drinks when everyone’s done with work. They go on dates on their own, Richie dragging Eddie to a hole in the wall pierogi place, walking the highline, even taking advantage of residents' free entry to the Met. Eddie hates having to hide their relationship in one facet of their lives, but it feels more and more solid in every other way.

Eddie’s been sitting on his realization that he loves Richie. It just never felt like quite the right time to say it. Besides, he’s terrified of how Richie might respond. Riley had said Richie was in love with him, but Eddie couldn’t tell the difference between in love and being really into him. He's confident Richie was into him (his constant declarations of affection proved that), but love is a different matter. So he’s waiting until things feel right, when he feels he's screwed up his courage.

It's finally, finally, closing night, and Eddie has gotten past all his earlier anxiety about calling the show, as usually happens during a long run. He knows this show inside and out, can time his cues to the tiniest fraction of the second to make them land as hard as possible. He’s proud of the work they’ve done, Mike’s arrangement of the action, Richie’s performance out there on the stage. And Eddie, pulling it all together.

All of the Losers are in the audience. That’s what they'd started calling their new group, after Richie had shouted “Hey, losers!” and everyone but Audra and Patty looked over, having never gotten used to the name in high school like the rest of them had. Eddie doesn’t love it, because he thinks that in this point of his life he’s the opposite of a loser, but Richie finds it amusing and that’s what matters most.

He finds them there, clustered in the center because that’s where he told them the speakers would interact to give them the best sound quality. Bill has an arm around Audra, who’s chatting with Ben about something. Stan is intently looking over the program, and he sees Bev take some covert sips from a flask before passing it to Mike, who offers it to Patty, who, after looking around surreptitiously, takes a swig. Eddie smiles. He loves these people. He can stop worrying about where his place is in the world, where he belongs, because he has a family now, in a way he never had before. His mom turned out to be a terrible family, and even though Riley's wonderful she's just one person. But now he has people who he can do Thanksgiving and Christmas with, swap secret Santa presents and go on long road trips upstate piled into someone’s borrowed van.

The ushers close the doors and he brings the lights down for the very final performance. The actors are giving it their all, everyone on point. Richie is almost painfully good, terrifying and hilarious in quick succession. Eddie feels every moment land, every cue hit exactly how he wants it too.

They’re nearing the end of the show and Eddie hasn’t been off by a single beat, not even once. He’s getting more and more nervous as they get towards the end. He’s so close to this being perfect. All of the energy he’s poured into this show, all of the love he’s given it and it’s given him in return, fueling him with a surge of energy that he narrows down to a pinprick focus.

They’re in the last several minutes, and Eddie is just tensely hovering over the go button. He knows the final line, knows it by heart, knows most of this play by heart. He waits for it, gives it the right space to lad, and- _go_.

The lights go down at exactly the right moment. It’s all silence as Eddie knows the audience is absorbing the end of the play. Then they start applauding uproariously, cheering and clapping. 

Eddie pumps his fist and honest to god whoops. He’d done it. He’d called a perfect show. It’s not like this had never happened before but he feels high off of this one, so incredibly fucking pleased with himself. He brings up the house lights for curtain call, and watches all the actors come out onto the stage. The audience keeps clapping, coming to a standing ovation. Richie takes his bows, and he's just grinning wildly at him. Then Richie sweeps his hand out and gestures at the booth before he starts clapping. The audience turns and now they’re applauding Eddie. He can see all the Losers cheering, Bev doing an ear splitting whistle. He can’t stop smiling, even as his eyes are welling up a little. The stage manager doesn’t usually get acknowledged, especially not so publicly.

The actors tromp off stage one last time, and Eddie brings up the house lights. He pulls out his computer to write one last performance report. Even though it isn’t true, for old times sake, he puts in Richie Tozier: 1 minute late. 

He hears the knock at the booth door and goes to open it. Richie is standing there. He sweeps him up in a hug and spins him.

“Did you fucking see that, Eds! We crushed it! Man, you fucking crushed it.”

“So did you! Eddie says. “I don’t think they've ever laughed harder at the phone conversation bit.”

“Yeah, but you were really on fire. I don’t really know anything about stage management but that seemed really, really good.”

Eddie can’t contain it anymore. “I called a perfect show!” he says. “Nothing was off, nothing was wrong, not even by a little bit.”

“Of course you did, because you’re fucking incredible,” Richie says. “Are you done here? Mike wrangled an invitation to the cast party for all the Losers and they want to get going.”

“Yeah, let's get out of here,” Eddie says. He grabs his stage manager’s kit and casts one long last look at the booth. He lingers over the space on the counter where he and Richie fucked and blushes slightly. In the past month they’d kept very enjoyably exploring what the other was into, trying out different interests, even if they hadn’t fucked it quite so public a space again.

When they get to the lobby all of their friends are waiting for them. When they emerge from the stage doors they all burst into applause once more. Bev and Ben start a chant of “Richie, Richie,” while Stan, Patty and Mike shout, “Eddie, Eddie!” Bill and Audra, being as inclusive as possible, start yelling “Mike! Mike!” just to acknowledge everyone's work on the show.

Eddie and Richie can't stop laughing as their friends envelop them into a group hug. After they all pull away, Richie says, “It’s time to party, motherfuckers!”

They all get on the subway to head to Atticus’ apartment, where they’re holding the cast party. All of the Losers give their opinions on the show. Stan is brutal, accurate, and observant, and Patty proves herself to be surprisingly knowledgeable about theater. Ben has nothing but nice things to say, while all Bev wants to talk about are the costume choices. Audra just wants to gossip about the people she knows in the cast, and Bill indulges her, nodding along to her discussion of who's hooking up with who else in the theater world, and who certain directors wouldn’t work with again.

They get to Atticus’ apartment and all pile in. It’s a pretty big cast and a pretty small apartment, so they’re a little squished, but it’s still cozy rather than overwhelming. Richie disappears to start mixing everybody drinks, and Bev follows to grab herself a beer.

The Losers mingle easily with the cast. Eddie knows it’s kind of a dick move, bringing all of your friends to the cast party, but it seems like everyone is getting along. He sees Leigh, leaning in very closely as she listens to everything Ben says, and he smiles at how continually oblivious Ben is as to his effect on women. 

He finds himself next to Mike, and Mike leans in and whispers,”So who in this room do you wanna work with again?”

Eddie surveys the scene. “Johnathan, definitely,” he says. “And maybe Hector.”

He and Mike had been talking about logistics for the next play they were doing together. They’d agreed to do a production of _Passing Strange_ , and Eddie was excited, both to be finally working on a musical and working with Mike on something they both felt passionately about. 

“Would you work with Richie again?” Mike asks. 

Eddie looks over at him, surprised. “I don’t know, would you work with me and Richie again?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot about it,” says Mike. “And yes, I think I would. Sure, it was rough there while you two were figuring out whatever it is you were doing, but then things got better after you started dating. And if you can encourage each other to make shows like the one I saw tonight there’s no reason at all you shouldn’t work together. Besides, dating the people you’re making art with is a time honored tradition in the theater.

“Like Judith Malina and Julian Beck,” Eddie says.

“Exactly,” Mike responds. “A theater power couple.”

Mike gets pulled away by Leigh, and Eddie wanders over to where Richie is sitting with a couple of other people from the cast. He plops down next to him and eyes Richie's drink. “Did you make this?” he asks.

“Yep,” Richie responds.

“Guessing game?”

Richie passes over the cup and Eddie takes a swig. “Whiskey, peach, lemon,” he says. “Eight out of ten.” He and Richie had been playing this game at Richie’s bar where Richie would make a mystery drink and Eddie would guess what was in it and then rate it. Richie had been using them as weekly specials, brainstorming names with Eddie while he sat at the bar.

“Exactly perfect,” Richie says, taking his drink back. “Just like you.”

“Jesus Christ you guys, will you finally make out?” says Ian from across the circle.

Richie and Eddie both look at him. “What?” Eddie says stupidly.

“You two,” Ian says. “You two have been making goo-goo eyes at each other for the past three months, will you just admit to each other that you like each other?”

“Do people think we like each other?” Eddie says.

Ian sighs and cups his hands over his mouth. “Hey everybody!” He shouts. “Do Richie and Eddie have huge crushes on each other?”

He hears Stan start laughing hysterically as the whole room chimes in a chorus of yes’s. Eddie looks at Richie. He’s mostly failing to hold back his smile, corners of his mouth tugging up.

“Eddie,” he says. “Are these good people correct? Are you nursing an enormous, giant thrush on the old Trashmouth? You want to hop on the Tozier train? Jonesing for a bonesing from big dick Richie?”

“No one can prove anything,” Eddie says. “Besides, who said you were even my type?”

“Gathered here in front of this crowd,” Richie says, gesturing out to everyone in the room, who are all paying close attention. “I need to confess that my type is you, only you, and no one but you because I have a massive, gigantic crush on you. All of these people read me like an open book. So, Eddie Kaspbrak, stage manager of my heart and light of my life, will you go on a date with me?”

“If you don’t do a single accent, maybe. But this doesn't mean I have a crush on you.”

Richie whoops. “Did you hear that, everyone? Eddie Spaghetti likes me, he has a big fat crush on me, and we’re going to go on a date.”

“Oh shut up,” says Eddie, completely unable to hold back his smile, and pulls Richie by the front of his shirt to kiss him.

Eddie’s still smiling when he kisses Richie. It’s a little awkward, but he just can’t stop. Dimly he hears the rest of the room cheering and hollering, but all he cares about is Richie’s lips on his. They pull away and stare at each other with matching dopey smiles. Then Richie leans and whispers into his ear, “Congrats on pulling the greatest con of the century.”

“I don’t know, there’ve been a lot of great cons,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, but the result of this con is that I’m dating you, so I’m pretty sure that makes it the greatest.”

Now that they can be open, Richie and Eddie stay glued to each other's side the whole night. They touch casually, little brushes of the arm or the shoulder, Richie slipping in his little pet names with earnest affection. It feels so right, the missing part of their relationship clicking into place. 

Eventually the night winds down, and all of the Losers head out. Half of them go uptown and half of them go downtown. When Bill suggested finding a bigger place so Audra could move in Eddie had brought up the idea of moving to Brooklyn, and Bill and Audra are considering it. Their lease is up in another two months, so they have time to decide. He's toyed with the idea of asking Richie if he wants to move in together, but he doesn't want to push things too fast when they're going so well. He’s considered bringing up a move to Stan as well. Eddie has this juvenile fantasy of them all living in the same neighborhood, biking to each other's places and going to the park together. He knows that’s a bizarre level of codependency, especially for a relatively recent friend group, but he’s never been around a group of people that have felt so intune with each other before. 

When they get back to Richie’s apartment, he and Richie say goodnight to Ben and Bev before heading out to Richie’s room. Once inside, Richie kisses him, and Eddie enthusiastically responds. Somehow the glow hasn’t worn off the sex. They still fuck like they can’t get enough of each other, like they want to devour each other. 

Once they’re finished, they lie there, cuddling. Richie strokes his hair gently. “So, I know you said calling a perfect show is better than great sex, but c’mon, you were there, nothing can top that fucking.”

“Calling a perfect show still feels better,” Eddie says.

“Dammit,” Richie curses. “I gotta just keep trying to up my dick game.”

“You’ll never get there,” Eddie says. “You’re trying to top a mental feeling with a physical sensation. It’s just not possible.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for reminding me you exist solely to keep my ego in check,” Richie responds.

Eddie’s quiet for a moment before he says, “Calling a perfect show might be better than great sex, but being here with you, just like this? That’s the best.”

Richie’s arms tighten around him as he takes a shaky breath. “Eddie, I have to tell you something,” he says.

Eddie feels his heart rate quicken, nerves descending into his stomach. “Okay?” he says tentatively.

“Fuck, this is-I know this is crazy, I know we haven’t been dating that long, and I really don’t want to scare you off, I know this is pretty intense but I-I-”

Eddie thinks he knows where he’s going, or at least hopes he does. He twists around so he’s facing him, and cups his face in his hand. “I love you too, Richie,” he says.

For one horrible moment he thinks he got it wrong. Richie’s just looking at him, mouth gaping open. Then his face breaks out into a wide smile and he swoops down to start peppering Eddie’s face with kisses. “Oh thank god,” he says. “Thank fucking god, because I love you so much. I’m fucking crazy about you.”

“Me too,” Eddie says. “You make me crazy, but I love you for it.”

“Oh fuck, I really like hearing you say that. Please tell me you love me.”

“I love you,” Eddie says. “I love you.”

Richie leans in to kiss him, long and deep, and Eddie feels his heart come close to bursting out of his chest. His life is full of warmth and love and friends and Richie, and that’s what he sees in his future too. He’s going to make art and live with the people he loves, keep going at his career until he’s at the very top of his game. And he’s going to do it with Richie. Working together had nearly sunk them, but it’s what brought them together, and he believes they can keep doing it, making each other better. 

“I love you,” he whispers again, because he can.

“I love you,” Richie says back. Eddie catalogues the feeling he gets in his whole body when Richie says ‘I love you,’ and resolves to never, ever, let that feeling go. He knows it’s definitely too soon to say this, but he feels he could stay in Richie’s arms for the rest of his life. And if he’s lucky, maybe he will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well boys, we finish off soft and sweet, but that's what they deserve.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, kudo dropping, and commenting. It's meant the world to me. 
> 
> I'm on twitter [twitter](https://toziertool.tumblr.com/) and tumblr [tumblr](https://twitter.com/beepbeepbxtch) if you have any final thoughts


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